On the Side of Caution
by Zephyras
Summary: When newly-emancipated Isaac Lahey moves back to his hometown to finish high school after five years in LA, he is prepared for the reality of living alone and supporting himself. Keeping a lid on his true nature and isolating himself from other people on the full moon is a given. What he isn't prepared for is Beacon Hills. Scott/Allison/Isaac, AU, Post-3b.
1. Isaac

On the Side of Caution:

It is better to err on the side of daring than the side of caution.

-Alvin Toffler

Beacon Hills is different than Isaac remembers. It's smaller, but he was expecting that. Compared to LA most places are anyway. What he wasn't expecting was how rich everyone seems to be. The houses, the cars, even the grocery stores are all fancy and shit. Was it really like this five years ago? It must have been, but he can't remember.

His house is still the same old shithole, though. Worse in fact, because no one's been taking care of it for the past five years. Isaac spends the first couple days going through every room with a vacuum and throwing out everything that's been ruined, including the food in the cupboards. He doesn't even want to think about the condition the pool is in. He doesn't go in the basement.

The utilities take a couple more days to get up and running, which is annoying. He probably should have come earlier, but his emancipation went through just before Christmas, and he'd spent the rest of December finalizing things with Beacon Hills High and getting his shit together for the move, leaving him only a week to get settled before school starts.

His dad's car still works, which is such a relief that he sags against the steering wheel in, well, relief, when it starts. Beacon Hills isn't a big town, but having to bike everywhere would suck, especially since he is desperately in need of a part time job. His dad was paying property taxes on the house from his savings up until he died, but they're all gone now. He'll have to pay property taxes for next year himself, and they are _high_. Also, he'll have to pay for utilities. And eat.

He needs new clothes too. It hadn't occurred to him before, but he's been getting suspicious looks since the second he stepped off the bus. His jeans are too low and baggy, his shirts too long. Compared to the sleek, well-tailored clothes of the average resident of Beacon Hills, Isaac looks like he just stepped out of the hood. Or rather, like some white boy trying to pretend he all gangsta. Beacon Hills is a ridiculously white town, there's probably fifty black people total, and that's being generous, and he's been getting the side-eye whenever he walks into a store with his hood up. It could be worse, he tells himself. If he was black they'd probably have called the cops the second he crossed city limits.

So he buys a belt and a pack of white t-shirts at Walmart, but he draws the line at buying new pants. Ain't no way he's wearing those skinny faggot jeans that seem to be the fashion with guys his age. He'd like to buy a new jacket because it's a lot colder here than in LA but he forces himself to make do with his hoodie and scarf. His shoes are ragged as hell too, but he can get new ones after he gets a job.

With his new wardrobe it's surprisingly easy to get a part time job in Beacon Hills. He might just be lucky, but the first place he walks into with a Help Wanted sign hires him on the spot. It's a gas station near the edge of town, and Isaac is not entirely sure he's old enough to be working there, emancipated or not, but he ain't complaining. Later he'll find out that Beacon Hills has a shortage of minimum wage workers and usually has to draw from some of the more blue collar towns further north, on account of everyone here being rich as fuck.

But despite the size of the town, the snotty-ass neighbors who stare at him from behind their curtains, the bone-deep discomfort that comes with living in his father's house after five years, and the rising anxiety at the thought of starting as a second semester junior in a town where everyone goes on to college, Isaac feels optimistic about the future. Anything is better than the group home he's been living in the last couple years. No more worrying about his stuff getting stolen, or getting cornered in the second floor stairwell or the showers. His social worker had worried about him living alone and advised him to make more of an effort to make friends than he ever had in LA, but all Isaac has wanted for years is to be alone. Having his own house, his own space, far outweighs any loneliness Miss Ramirez thought he would contract. In Beacon Hills he can be invisible, quietly do his year a half of time until graduation, sell the house, and go wherever he wants.

All of this he knew before he moved back here. What he didn't know was how freeing it was going to be. Because best of all, Beacon Hills is surrounded by woods. Isaac hasn't explored them yet, but he's a little surprised at how excited he is just knowing they are there. No more taking three buses and a commuter train far out into the county just to get away from fucking people. The Beacon Hills Forest Preserve is barely a five minute drive from his house. It's going to be perfect for full moons.

**A/N: So this is my 150k+ Scallisaac monster, which I have been writing instead of doing much more important things. I started writing pretty much right after 3b was over and I am so close to being done, but I wanted to start posting it before season four comes out and it is Jossed horribly despite the fact that it's an AU.**

**General Disclaimer: Some characters in this fic (particularly Isaac) have views that are not at all politically correct. This does not reflect the opinion of the author and I hope I do a good job of expressing that they are problematic.**


	2. Isaac II

His first week at Beacon Hills High is one unending nightmare full of getting completely lost on the way to all his classes, being completely out of his depth in nearly every single subject, and meetings with school administrators, who clearly have no idea what to do with an emancipated teenager. They want him repeat a year because while Isaac's grades were passable, his testing scores are abysmal compared to the average student at Beacon Hills High. He moved to LA at the end of sixth grade, but he probably still reads at a sixth grade level, he thinks glumly. He's never taken a foreign language before and is annoyed to find that they've decided he'll have to take at least one year of either French, Spanish, or Latin (what the fuck?) Still, he refuses point-blank to repeat a year, and they thankfully do not decide to press the issue. He ends up with Geometry, French I, English, Gym, U.S. History, Physics, and Economics. He doesn't even know what economics is.

Long story short, he is completely fucked. French and History seem easy enough, just a bunch of memorization shit, but he has absolutely no idea what is going on in Geometry. It rankles him because he was always good at math in LA, even got a B+ in Algebra while he's pretty sure the rest of the class was averaging a D. In English they are reading some completely fucked up book about some black girl who's getting raped by her father, and it throws him how their old hag of a teacher calmly discusses the book like it's completely normal. People don't even swear in this town. He thought they'd only read stuff like Romeo and Juliet. Even worse, she assigns a one page report on the first couple chapters on the third day. Isaac is going to have to get a library card, because it sounds like he's going to need to type it out. He used to have a computer at home, but it's gone, as well as the TV, printer, stereo, and DVD player. Isaac guesses his father sold them before he went inside. Physics is completely incomprehensible to him. After the first week in Economics, Isaac still has no idea what is it is. The only thing he's learned is that the teacher, who is also the gym teacher and lacrosse coach, is fucking insane.

Speaking of lacrosse, Isaac totally forgot how big it was in Beacon Hills. He sees the lacrosse players practicing as he walks to his car after school and remembers going with his father to see Camden play. It's a ridiculous sport, but it still looks as fun as it did when Isaac was ten, and he tries not to wish he could join in.

It'll get easier, Isaac tells himself, as he stares blankly at his Geometry homework, bent over the counter of the gas station shop. It will. He just has to get used to it and remind himself that Beacon Hills is a huge step up from where he was a year ago.

It doesn't get easier, though, because week two at Beacon Hills High is when things start to fall apart.

During his first week at Beacon Hills High, Isaac made no effort to make friends or socialize with any of his classmates and while he garnered more than a couple curious looks being the new kid in a small town, they mostly left him alone. Isaac's standoffish manner coupled with his less than stellar wardrobe wards away even the most friendly of students and that's the way he prefers it. He's overheard more than one conversation about the new kid in the hallways, but that's to be expected.

So he doesn't pay much attention at first when the Mexican kid in his History class starts staring at him.

**A/N: Wow, I did not realize this part was so short. Don't worry, most chapters will be longer than this, we're just getting started. Next chapter is Scott! Many thanks to my beta Resonance and d!**


	3. Scott

"Scott?"

Scott jolts out of his reverie and shoves the photobooth picture into his desk drawer before grabbing his jacket and backpack.

"Coming!" he calls, taking the stairs down two at a time. His mother stands at the bottom of the stairs with that concerned look on her face, a permanent fixture in their lives since...since...

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks, putting her hand on his shoulder.

He's not. He knows he's not, but he can't tell her that. He can't tell her that after everything, after Kate and Peter, some part of him just wants to run away and leave Beacon Hills behind like Derek did. He can't tell her how helpless he feels when he sees Stiles come to school with dark circles under his eyes, haunted by nightmares of the crimes the nogitsune had perpetrated. He can't tell her how much he misses Kira, even though some part of him was glad she'd left before he had a chance to screw everything up with her. He can't tell her that after Allison, he's felt like he's been walking around these past two months with a hole in his chest, worse than any pain he's ever felt before. Most of all, he can't tell her how sick he is of the supernatural crap that's ruined all of their lives. For a while...for a while there he thought he'd be okay with being a werewolf. Being an alpha. But he knows now that it's never going to stop. It's always going to be like this.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Scott says and smiles, kissing his mother on the cheek. "I've got to go now, otherwise I'll be late."

His mother doesn't look convinced (she never does), but they've had this conversation so many times that she doesn't argue.

"Wait," she calls when he grabs his helmet off its hook. "I thought your dad was going to drive you this morning."

Scott's mouth twists in a scowl. That's another thing that's been happening lately. His dad is trying to make _amends_. Worse, his mother actually appears to be on his side. Scott doesn't know why she would would forgive him for ditching them for _years_, over possibly the stupidest reason he's ever heard in his life, and he doesn't particularly care. He has no patience for this right now, not after everything that has happened. Besides, his dad doesn't even know who he is and Scott has no intention of him finding out he's a werewolf. He'd probably just freak out and leave again, he thinks derisively.

"I don't have time for him right now," Scott says coolly, putting on his helmet. "I'll talk to him later."

And before his mother can protest, Scott is out the door and zooming off on his bike.

Six weeks ago, during one of Stiles's panic attacks, he'd told Scott he thought Beacon Hills was cursed. Scott had protested, of course, privately thinking that it was an overdramatic statement brought on by Stiles's guilt in the aftermath of his possession. But that had been before Kate, Peter, and more hunters had tried to kill them and each other, ending in the the shooting up of the Beacon Hills Library, Derek's loft, and Lydia's house, sending shock waves through the already traumatized Beacon Hills community. The Yukimuras moved back to New York and Derek, shaken by Kate's return and the second betrayal of Peter, finally decided he had enough and returned to Cora. Scott doesn't blame him. Furthermore, Lydia's mother ended up finding out her daughter was a banshee. She did not take it well, and Scott, Stiles, and Malia haven't been able to see her outside of school for weeks. Lydia told them she just barely convinced her mother not to send her away like Jackson over winter break.

And now, just when the dust was starting to settle after what was no doubt the worst year of Scott's life...

Now there's another werewolf in Beacon Hills.

Scott parks his bike in his usual spot and goes to meet Lydia, Stiles, and Malia at their usual place on the benches outside. They're already there waiting for him, looking over a manila folder that Stiles most likely took from the Sheriff's Station.

"You got it?" Scott says, looking over Stiles closely. He looks very pale.

"Yeah," Stiles says with a jerky nod of his head. "My dad gave me most of it."

Scott frowns and sits down next to Malia, eyeing the documents inside the file entitled "Isaac Lahey" in small black font on the tab on the side.

"He wouldn't give me all of it," Stiles complains airily, but Scott can tell he's really annoyed. "He said...look, just listen, okay. Here's the gist of it. Isaac Lahey, age 17, which you probably guessed, considering, you know, he's a junior like us, but I figured it was important information tha-"

"Stiles, get to the point," Lydia says testily, tapping her varnished nails on the plastic top of the bench.

Stiles swallows, looking thrown out of his element for a second. "Right," he says after a second. "Isaac Lahey. He actually lived in Beacon Hills until 2007, after which he was removed from his home by social services."

Scott raises his eyebrows. "Really? Why?"

Stiles scowls. "That's the part my dad wouldn't let me see. Just said it was a pretty nasty child abuse case and that I didn't need the details. I told him the details are important-remember Matt? But he wouldn't listen."

"So he just moved back here?"

"Yeah, he was sent to live with his grandmother in LA, but she died like six months after he moved in, so he was put in the foster care system. Anyway, this is where it gets really weird. Remember this?" Stiles flips to a picture of the Beacon Hills 2006 swim team.

"What do they have to do with it?" Lydia asks, giving an absent-minded wave at a passing girl who says hi as she walks by their table. She doesn't look up from the file though. Scott remembers when Lydia used to be the most popular girl in their class. Now he's pretty sure she doesn't have any friends outside of the people at this table.

"This," Stiles says, pointing at the swim coach, "is Isaac Lahey's father. He was in prison up until last year, when he was murdered under, shall we say, mysterious circumstances."

"Matt," Scott breathes, remembering how angry Matt had been when he spoke about the swim coach who had threatened him not to tell what had happened at the pool. "He killed him, too."

"Who's Matt?" Malia asks, but Stiles just waves her away.

"This," he continues, pointing to another boy in the photograph, "is Camden Lahey, Isaac's older brother. He joined the army after school and died in combat in February 2007."

"What was Lahey in prison for?" Lydia asks, pursing her lips. "Child abuse?"

"Dunno, probably," Stiles says hurriedly. "So mom's dead a few years back, brother's dead, and father dies in prison-"

"-leaving Isaac with the house," Scott finishes, something in his chest loosening at the realization. "So that's why he's here."

"Part of emancipation is proving you can support yourself," Stiles says triumphantly and Scott can't help but smile at the life in Stiles's eyes as he solves a case. "He probably got access to his dad's bank accounts after he died too."

"So you're saying he's not just here because of the Nemeton," Lydia says impatiently. "Or to do something, you know, evil?"

Stiles's expression falls at that and Scott resists the urge to glare at Lydia for ruining his good mood. "I didn't say that," he says, running his hands through his hair distractedly. "I mean, just look at him. He does kind of look evil."

He gestures at the parking lot, and they all turn to see Isaac crossing the school yard, hood up, expression closed, shoulders hunched.

"He does look like he's about to rob a bank," Lydia says in amusement and Malia snorts with laughter. Scott disagrees. He looks like someone who just wants to be left alone.

But her amusement is cut short when Isaac glances over at them, startling when he realizes they're all staring at him.

"Shit," Scott says, turning back around in his seat. "He totally saw us, didn't he?"

"Yup," Malia says, wincing, before turning to him eagerly. "So, what are we going to do about him?"

Sadly, of the four of them, Malia seems to be coping the best with the supernatural disaster that is their lives. While Lydia, Scott, and Stiles are still suffering from grief over Allison's death and the other consequences of the nogitsune's attack on Beacon Hills, Malia was more than eager to jump into the fray against the hunters, Peter, and Kate. For a while both Scott and Lydia became slightly resentful over her general enthusiasm for life and death situations like the one that resulted in Allison's death, until Stiles had told them that she was desperate for any high adrenaline situation that let her forget about her role in the deaths of her mother and sister and the current strained relationship with her (non-biological) father, who is still unaware of her true nature. Lately, Malia has been his ally in watching out for Stiles, making sure he's taking his medication, and talking him down from some of his panicked diatribes. Scott isn't really sure if what's between them is romantic. At the beginning he even briefly wondered if Stiles's interactions with her were some ploy to make Lydia jealous. They aren't, but even if they if were, it's clearly not worked at all. Lydia has been distant ever since Allison's death and Scott worries about her too, but she, like Scott himself, is too busy pretending to be okay for Stiles's sake to let anyone try and take care of her.

Scott blinks. "What do you mean?"

"You know," Malia says, looking at Scott like he's asked her how to spell his own name. "We have to confront him."

"We do?"

Stiles, Lydia, and Malia all look at him with varying levels of incredulity on their faces.

"I mean, it sounds like he's just here to, you know, finish up high school," Scott explains, rather taken aback at their expressions. "His dad died in February, right? So he must have been working on getting emancipated since then. He doesn't look like he's here to cause trouble."

"Scott," Stiles says, looking confused. "He's a _werewolf_. What if he has a pack?"

"That just all followed him from LA to some tiny town in northern California?" Lydia says disdainfully, looking at something on her phone.

"Hey, the Alpha pack came here from wherever, so-"

"He doesn't have a pack," Scott cuts in.

Malia frowns. "How do you know?" she asks suspiciously.

Scott shrugs uncomfortably. "I can just...kinda tell? Like, he's definitely an omega. I know that much."

There is a pause as his three friends digest this. Scott checks his phone. Two minutes until the bell rings.

"That means he's not that strong, right?" Malia asks and then brightens at Stiles's nod.

Stiles sighs and looks at Scott sympathetically. "Look, man, I dunno. I get that you don't want this to turn into another, you know..." he trails off before swallowing. "But this is our town. We've got to make sure..."

"Yeah, I know," Scott sighs, rubbing his temples. This is how it starts, he can already tell. "Just lemme talk to Deaton first."

"What about Argent?" Malia asks, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders, shivering even though she's bundled up like there's snow on the ground. "He's a hunter, right? He could, you know, warn him off if you didn't want to do it."

Scott goes very still, and so do Stiles and Lydia, but thankfully the bell rings before he is forced to come up with an explanation for why he quite possibly never wants to bother Chris with supernatural problems again.

They all stand, Stiles shaking his head at Malia silently and make their way to their lockers to grab their books. First period is history with Kira's father's replacement. And Isaac Lahey. Scott, Stiles, and Lydia, get good seats in the back so they can keep an eye on him, to the annoyance of their classmates, and Scott is careful not to look at Isaac until he sits down, his back to Scott.

So far Scott is inclined to be sympathetic towards him. He sounds like he's had a pretty tough life and seems to keep to himself. As far as Scott can tell, he's made none of the overdramatic villain overtures that Peter, Deucalion, and even Derek had engaged in. He's not even sure that Isaac is aware that Scott exists, much less that he's a werewolf too, though the former might change considering the way they'd all been blatantly staring at him this morning. Scott will talk to Deaton tonight at work about the specifics, but he already knows what he has to do. Stiles is right. Isaac is a werewolf and the full moon is coming up in a week and a half. Scott cannot afford not to take precautions and he cannot ask Chris, who's entire world has been torn asunder over the past two months with the death of his only daughter and his homicidal sister's reign of terror before her (second) death, to do his job for him. To be honest, Scott is surprised he hasn't left Beacon Hills yet. It's not like he has anything left here.

So many people have died in the past year, and if Scott can prevent more, then he has to act. He can't let anyone else die.

He'll talk to Deaton tonight and then tomorrow he'll confront Isaac.

**A/N: And so it begins! Obviously this was written before any of the spoilers about season four came out, and will not be compliant with the upcoming season. This fic operates under the premise that the problems with Kate and the hunters introduced in 3b were resolved at the end of 2011 and now it's January 2012. Thus, they will not be part of this fic, along with Peter, Derek, and Kira and her family. Enjoy and please don't hesitate to leave a review!**


	4. Isaac III

The Mexican kid and his white friends are watching him again. Isaac shifts uncomfortably in his seat against his locker and tries to focus on reading the chapter in his Economics textbook. He's been sitting in this hallway for the past week and a half after finishing lunch and they've never been here before. Now all of the sudden they are hanging out at the other end of the hallway, ostensibly studying together quietly, but he can feel their eyes on him, like he's been able to feel them the past couple days. They're not talking about him; he could hear them if they were. No, they're just..._looking._

He's been wracking his brain, trying to think what he's done to provoke their creepy stares. It's been a couple days now and none of them have tried to talk to him, which only makes him more and more anxious.

It can't be some weird gang thing, right? They don't have gangs in a rich-ass town like Beacon Hills, do they? The brunette looks butch enough with her heavy jacket and combat boots, but the redhead seems to perpetually wear mini-skirts and six inch heels. The white guy looks like a strong breeze would blow him over and while the Mexican looks like he has muscles, Isaac bets he has three or four inches on him.

So what the fuck? What is their problem? It's really creeping him out. They're not even glaring at him, they're just staring, like he's some exotic animal in a fucking zoo.

And now that he's noticed them, they're _everywhere_. It makes sense, he guesses, as Beacon Hills High only has 500 something students. The only class he doesn't have with any of them is French, and that's probably only because it's full of freshmen. He even feels the white guys' stare on his back when he goes to change into his gym uniform in a bathroom stall.

He gets so paranoid, he finds himself wishing they would just get it over with and _do something_. Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as not knowing.

He will regret thinking that.

They spend the whole next day staring at him too, and when Isaac finally pulls out of the parking lot after the day is over, he sighs an audible sigh of relief. And then checks his rearview mirror just in case.

He has two hours before he has to be at work, which he spends at the library, meticulously typing up a report for English class, and then heads off to the gas station with his Economics textbook in hand.

His shift is over at ten, because everything in Beacon Hills closes early and he's walking out, making sure the doors lock properly before he goes around the back to shut off the lights and they're there.

"Motherfuck-" he starts and then cuts himself off. Miss Ramirez warned him that that kind of language, even among his peers, was unlikely to be tolerated in a small town like Beacon Hills.

"Hi," the white kid says, a little smirk on his face that Isaac does not like the look of. "Isaac, right?"

The four of them have clearly been waiting for him, their postures tense like they're ready for a fight. The Mexican's out front, with the butch girl flanking him, while the other two are hanging back.

"Who's asking?" Isaac says suspiciously. Something is wrong. He doesn't know what, but the hair on the back of his neck is rising just from being in proximity to these people.

"I'm Scott," the Mexican says, which okay, doesn't sound very Mexican. Maybe he's one of those whose family moved to California in the 1800s. "We just want to talk, alright?"

None of the others offer their names. Isaac forces himself to stand tall and adopts a disdainful expression.

"Right. You gonna let me in on why y'all've been staring at me the last couple days?"

They give him wide, surprised looks and Isaac laughs, because really? Did they think they were being _subtle_?

"C'mon, now," he goads, sticking his hands into his pockets, because the best defense really is a good offense."What is it? Something on my face? Or did you just decide it'd be fun to try and fuck with the new ki-"

"We know you're a werewolf," the redhead interrupts him coolly and she might as well have stabbed him in the chest with the heel of one of her ridiculous shoes.

Isaac freezes, mouth hanging open stupidly. Fear courses through him because _what_. How could they know that? _No one_ knows that. Isaac has never told anyone, never so much as breathed a word. He hasn't even been here for a full moon yet. How could they know?

"You're an omega, right?" butch girl says incomprehensibly, when he doesn't answer. "Where's your pack?"

He has no idea what she's talking about. Inside his pockets, his hands clench into fists. _Run_, his instincts scream. And even worse, there's a part of him that whispers, _kill them_.

"What do you want?" Isaac asks slowly, neither confirming or denying their claim. He has to focus very hard on trying not to shake. Their faces are very pale from the florescent lighting and Isaac hopes they disguise how white he must be right now.

"We know you're probably just here to finish high school," the Mexican says and there is something about the purposefulness of his voice that make Isaac reassess his opinion of how much of a threat he could be. That tone is _dangerous_. "But the full moon's next week." He takes a step forward and Isaac has to steel himself to hold his ground. "So take this as your official warning. You hurt _anyone_ and we will have a _problem_."

And his eyes glow _red_.

Isaac jerks back in shock and butch girl lets out an amused snort. The Mexican's expression does not change as he stares Isaac down and in that instant Isaac knows, and he doesn't know how, that the Mexican is stronger than he is.

"Do you understand?" he continues slowly, as if Isaac is a particularly stupid child and Isaac wishes he could rake his claws over his stupid fac-

Isaac understands nothing. Only that his life is probably on the line if he doesn't answer correctly.

"Yess," he grits out between clenched teeth, muscles tensed, ready for an attack at any moment. A car passes on the road in front of them and Isaac wonders what they must look like, five teenagers in a confrontation under the white gas station lights.

"Good," the Mexican says, what was his name again? Something American, right? He's already forgotten. He gives Isaac a serious nod and then without further ado, they all turn and leave, getting into a stupid-looking blue jeep and driving off without a glance in his direction, leaving Isaac shaking under the white lights with the knowledge that he is so, _so _fucked.

Isaac is lucky he gets home without incident, he's shaking so hard. It doesn't help that he's a relatively inexperienced driver; he only got his license last month in preparation for coming back to Beacon Hills.

When he gets home he doesn't even bother to make dinner, just goes up to his old room and sits on his bed, fingers digging into the fabric of his jeans.

His old room was the only room that was completely empty when he got here. It looks like his dad probably threw all his old stuff out after Isaac left. It hurts more than Isaac would like to admit. Camden and his mother's stuff was still in their rooms when he got here. For the first couple nights Isaac slept in Camden's room, but that was even more painful. It just made Isaac think of that fucking phone call. And the way Camden had just left him behind-_alone_, with their _father_-with a clap on his shoulder, like he didn't know what he was dooming Isaac to.

He hadn't thought about this kind of stuff in LA. Sure, his family sucked, but he was better off than a lot of people, like the kids whose junkie parents let them starve just so they could get another hit, or who raped them or pimped them out. But here he is drowning in the memories of his childhood, every second in this house a reminder of how little his family-mother, brother, father-had cared for him. It's stupid, it's so stupid. He hadn't realized it would all come back like this. He keeps trying to tell himself that it doesn't matter, that it's not like it's anything he didn't already know. So what, his father beat the shit out of him, mother and brother never really seemed to care one way or another, boo hoo. It was five years ago. He should be over it by now. They're all dead. Why can't he stop thinking about it?

More, importantly why can't he stop thinking about it now? There are other _werewolves_ in Beacon Hills. Of all the tiny towns in California that he had to grow up in, _this_ was the one with the werewolves? He'd never even met any others in LA, besides the one who bit him, but he couldn't call her randomly biting him and then running away never to be seen again actually meeting her. She'd had red eyes too, didn't she? Isaac thought she did.

He's lies back on his bed and stares up at the ceiling. What is he going to do? Did they want him to leave? No, the Mexican hadn't said that. He'd just said not to hurt anyone. Well, that wouldn't be a problem. Isaac has no intention of being around people on the full moon.

Fuck. He is so _fucked_. He has to go to school with these people! What if they tried to run him out of town? The house is a disaster as it is. Isaac has planned to fix up what he could over the next year and a half to get a better price. If he tried to sell it now... And after all the work he'd done to get back up here! He couldn't just leave.

He doesn't end up getting any sleep that night, but by morning he has come up with a plan. He won't leave, but he'll make every effort to stay away from the other werewolves at school. The pack? Like they were actual wolves? The idea is disgusting to Isaac. His eyes might glow gold, he might grow claws, fangs, and random sideburns, and go a little crazy on the full moon, but he's still a person. He may be a monster, but he is _not_ an animal.

But he's decided he'll have to go somewhere else for the full moon. It's too dangerous to stay in Beacon Hills if there's other werewolves here. After school he'll go to the library and look up the nearest towns and see if they have any forest preserves.

For a while it seems like this plan may actually work. He still feels the eyes of one of the werewolves on him at school occasionally, but with far less frequency as before, and they make no effort to talk to him again. For the full moon, Isaac drives fifty miles northwest, into Sonoma County, for the shift.

Isaac always hates the full moon until it actually happens. Then he loves it. He loves running through the woods at breakneck speed, loves the freedom of unsheathing his claws after an entire month of holding them back, holding himself back, pretending to be a quiet, docile, house-cat who follows the rules and does what he's told. He loves the release, the ability to howl out his anger and helplessness at the lack of control he has over his life. He roars out his fury at the abuse he's suffered at his father's hands, the death of his grandmother right when he was starting to get used to her kindness and general interest in his well-being, the beatings and attempted rapes he'd suffered at the group home, the unfairness of finally getting put into a foster home when he was fifteen, only to get put right back into the group home six months later. He runs until dawn and the compulsion to slash things to bits recedes. Then he spends the next three hours trying to find his car. Isaac is lucky that the first full moon was on a weekend and that he doesn't have to work until three. He's not sure what he's going to do when the full moon lands on one of the nights he has to work, but he'll deal with that as it comes.

By the time he gets back to Beacon Hills it's nearly ten and all Isaac wants to do is take a shower and sleep the entire day away. He changed his shirt in the car, but his shoes are caked with mud and he ripped a huge piece off the bottom of his left pant when it got stuck on a branch, which is going to be a bitch to repair. Unfortunately, he is not able to do either of these things, because when he pulls into his street, there's a cop car parked outside of his house. As well as that stupid blue jeep in his driveway.

Shit. Isaac tries to swallow back his fear and think of an escape route, but it's too late, the Mexican, the white kid, and a cop are standing in his driveway and they've already seen him.

He can't believe this. They snitched on him. They _snitched_ on him. To the _police_. An even worse thought occurs to him. Do the police know about werewolves?

He parks on the other side of the road in front of the mansion across from his house and gets out of the car as slow as he can without making it look like he's stalling. When in doubt, he thinks, pretend to know nothing.

"Morning, officer," he says, sticking his hands in his pockets as he crosses the street. He knows he probably looks like a wreck, but being polite has always worked in his favor. "There a problem?"

"Sheriff, actually," the cop says. He's a well-tanned middle aged guy with graying hair, but he's in fairly good shape for a cop his age. He's also looking at Isaac like he's a particularly resilient strain of bathroom mold. "We'd like you to come down to the station and answer a few questions on your whereabouts last night."

"You arresting me?" Isaac snaps automatically, and immediately regrets it. No one in Beacon Hills is going to hassle him for talking to the police. They probably even like the police here. He shouldn't be so defensive; it just makes him look guilty.

Apparently the Sheriff thinks so too because before Isaac can say another word, the Sheriff's slammed him against the blue jeep.

Isaac lets out a grunt of pain as he bangs his elbow against the car door and the white kid yells, "Dad, wait!"

"Now you listen to me, son," the Sheriff says furiously, sounding so much like his dad that Isaac freezes, hands going limp at his sides. "If you had anything to do with that man's death, do not think that you're just going to walk because of what you are! Now, where were you last night?!"

Isaac's throat is stuck in fear, his ears ringing with his father's voice-_look at you, crying again, as if anyone gives a shit. Now get up off the floor, son, it's time to take this downstairs_.

"Dad, stop, let go of him!" the white kid says, sounding afraid. And he should be. Isaac is not a weak child anymore.

The Sheriff grabs the collar of his jacket and slams him against the jeep again. "Answer me!" he snarls.

"Let. Go." Isaac says as calmly as possible, feeling his claws start to elongate, his eyes start to glow gold, but before he can do anything, the Mexican is dragging the Sheriff off him, his own eyes glowing red.

"Enough," he says, stepping in front of the Sheriff, face determined and angry. Isaac finds himself detracting his claws in an automatic response.

"Answer the question," the Mexican says calmly, eyes still bright red. "Where were you last night?"

"Not here," Isaac snarls in response, and feels a strange sense of triumph at the annoyed expression that crosses the other werewolf's face.

"Where?" the Mexican repeats angrily, taking a step forward. Isaac barely manages to restrain his flinch.

"Sonoma County," he bites out, curling his hands into fist. Because how _dare_ they. He hasn't done a goddamn thing. "Which means whatever the fuck y'all are on about, I got no part in it. So you can take your police brutality bullshit elsewhere, you hear?"

"Excuse me?" the white kid, or rather, the Sheriff's kid says angrily.

His father and the Mexican ignore him.

"What were you doing in Sonoma County?" the Sheriff asks suspiciously, stepping out from behind the Mexican.

"None of your fucking business."

"Son, you'd better watch your tongue when you speak to-"

"I ain't your son," Isaac says, pushing himself off the jeep. "And I'll speak how I please."

The Sheriff opens his mouth for an angry retort, but the Mexican, who has been watching Isaac with eery intent throughout their conversation cuts him off.

"He's telling the truth." His eyes are brown again.

Isaac snaps his head over to look at him. _Shit_. He'd completely forgot about the whole lie detector thing. Of course other werewolves could do it too.

"Either that or he's a really good liar," the Sheriff's kid says, looking at Isaac like he'd like to take an ax to him.

"Do you have an alibi then?" the Sheriff asks, taking out his police notebook and flipping it open.

Isaac eyes it distrustfully.

"Is there someone I can call who can vouch you were in Sonoma County last night?" the Sheriff says slowly, like he thinks Isaac is stupid.

"No," Isaac says, the anger receding, leaving cold fear in its wake. Could they arrest him just for not having an alibi? "Wait," he says, digging in his pockets. "Here, I got gas this morning on the way back."

He hands the receipt to the Mexican and it's only after he does it that he realizes what a strange thing to do it was. The Sheriff is the one with the real power here, not a teenage werewolf.

"This was two hours ago," the Mexican says, passing the receipt to the Sheriff.

"Yeah, well, it's all I got," Isaac says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't know about no murder."

"Who said murder?" the Sheriff's kid demands.

Isaac scowls and points at the Sheriff. "He did. Like two minutes ago. Or are you as deaf as you are stupid?"

"Okay, that's it-" the kid says angrily, stepping forward.

"Stiles," the Mexican says, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a meaningful look.

What the fuck is a Stiles? Is that his _name_?

'Stiles' gives Isaac an evil look, but throws his hands up and steps back.

The Mexican turns to the Sheriff. "You said he was stabbed in the heart, right? Remember Jennifer? It doesn't really sound like a werewolf murder."

"So you think it's a coincidence?" Stiles says, gesturing at Isaac wildly. "Him showing up and some guy getting killed on the _full moon_?" He pauses and turns to Isaac suddenly. "Hey, you haven't happened to seriously piss off a druid, have you?"

"What the fuck is a druid?"

Stiles gives him a disgusted look. "And _I'm_ the stupid one here?"

Isaac lets out a furious snarl. "Motherfucker, you got a problem then step to, or step the fuck off." He's not afraid of some skinny white boy, who, if by the way the Mexican and the Sheriff have been covering him, is probably not a werewolf after all.

"Alright, that's enough," the Mexican says, glaring at both of them.

Fuck this shit, Isaac is done.

"Are you going to arrest me or what?" he says to the Sheriff, who's not even _looking_ at him, but instead scribbling in his stupid cop notebook.

The Sheriff blinks at him in surprise. "What?"

"Are we done here?" Isaac grits out. "Because if so, I want you off of my fucking property."

The Sheriff gives him a cold look and for a second Isaac almost regrets swearing at him, before he shrugs.

"Yeah," he says, giving Isaac a cool look, like he's all laidback and shit and hadn't just shoved him against a car. "We're done here."

"Great," Isaac says with a sarcastic smirk. "Now fuck off and get this piece of shit jeep out of my driveway."

Stiles gives a squawk of outrage-of _course _it's his car- but Isaac heads to his front door before any of them can respond. He slams the door behind him and sinks down onto the dusty living room couch. He can still hear them talking in the driveway.

"I don't think he has anything to do with it," the Mexican is saying.

"Maybe not," the Sheriff says, sounding unhappy. "But you can't deny he seems like trouble. You better keep an eye on him."

"Yeah, we will," Stiles says darkly. "Of course, we never get a break. Now we have to deal with another jackass werewolf, who also may or may not be homicidal. Great, just great."

"...see you at home, Stiles. Try not to break too many laws before then?"

"I make no promises, Pops! Hey, Scott, you still need a ride to your dad's?"

"Yeah, I'd better..."

Their voices fade and then Isaac hears the sound of two engines starting and driving away. He lets himself fall sideways onto the couch and groans into the dusty cushions.

The Mexican's name is Scott. He knew it was something American.

Isaac won't forget it this time.

**A/N: So that did not go well. Isaac really does not make things easy for himself, lol. Please review and the next part will be out soon!**


	5. Isaac IV

Isaac reads about the murder on the Beacon Hills newspaper's website. Apparently some old guy was found stabbed in the heart in the Beacon Hills Forest Preserve. The article makes references to several other murders that happened last year. Apparently 2011 had the highest murder rate in Beacon Hills history. Isaac looks at the other articles, expecting three or four people to have been killed in domestic disputes, and is shocked to find that 2011 started with a rash of "animal attacks" and a teenage serial killer, Matt Daehler, who he actually _went to elementary school with_ (murdered by persons unknown before he could be apprehended) and ended with another serial killer (never caught), a bunch of guys in Japanese masks who killed fifteen people at the hospital and Sheriff's Station (also never caught), and several Mexican gangsters who shot up the Beacon Hills library (arrested and awaiting trial).

What the fuck is wrong with this town? What did he get himself into when he moved here?

He briefly entertains the idea that Scott and his werewolf friends are responsible, but it doesn't really make sense considering how he warned Isaac not to hurt anyone on the full moon. Jesus, no wonder they weren't happy with Isaac moving here. It looks like the last year was one disaster after the other and he can't help but notice the weirdness of some of the stuff that's happened. The animal attacks definitely look like werewolves, but he couldn't begin to guess what all the others really were. He doubts it was as simple as the article describes.

Of course. It couldn't be just as simple as werewolves. There has to be _other_ stuff too. If there's vampires, Isaac thinks morosely, he's out of here.

And now someone's been stabbed in the heart in the woods. Just...great. It better not be another serial killer, or Isaac guesses the National Guard will be parachuting in to save all the rich white people of Beacon Hills. Why they aren't already here is anyone's guess, though the article mentioned that the FBI has some permanent office set up to deal with the murders.

There's nothing he can really do with this information, though it does help him understand where Scott and the others are coming from. All he really has to do is stay out of their way and keep his head down. Eventually they'll realize he's not a threat. Right?

Isaac needs to stop making plans in this town. None of them ever work out.

* * *

A week and a half after Scott and Stiles tried to get him arrested, Isaac is at the library (parts of which are still under construction), _minding his own business_, typing up another stupid English report when he hears it.

Isaac has been a werewolf for about two and a half years now and he's gotten pretty good at ignoring sounds and smells that don't apply to his life. It used to be very distracting, but he's got a handle on it now. Still, every once and a while he'll hear or smell something strange and have to figure out what it is before moving on. That's just being aware of your surroundings.

At first he thinks the hitching little breaths are some creep watching porn on the public computers, but after a second he ascertains that they're not a recording. Then he thinks that some even creepier person is jerking off in a fucking public library. But the noises are female and...afraid.

Then he smells the blood.

Isaac raises his head from his computer and glances around the library, trying to figure out where it's coming from. He can't see anything from where he's sitting, so he grabs his backpack, but leaves the document open. As long as he comes back soon, no one will touch the computer.

He follows the noises to the far corner of non-fiction section and then quickens his pace. The smell of blood is stronger now, and it's definitely not menstrual blood. There's far too much of it and that shit smells different anyway. Is someone hurt?

He rounds a bookcase and stumbles onto the scene, freezing in his tracks as he tries to puzzle out exactly what is happening.

There's a blonde woman, maybe in her late twenties, with large blue eyes and pouty pink lips. She'd be pretty hot except for the fact that she's _slicing at some old lady's throat with a huge-ass knife_. She's holding a bowl underneath the woman's neck to catch the blood and her eyes widen as she sees Isaac. For a second they just stare at each other. Then the old lady lets out a gurgle, eyes pleading-she's still alive?-and Isaac is brought back into the present.

"Hey!" he yells and the blonde woman drops the old lady and brandishes the knife at him. Isaac dodges the knife and throws her into the bookcase, causing it to crash into the bookcase next to it, setting a off a chain reaction of bookcases falling like dominoes. Isaac feels his eyes begin to glow and fangs come out as he steps forward, ready for her next attack. But the blonde woman gets up, takes one look at him, and then bolts.

"Hey!" Isaac yells again, but he can't follow her and leave the old lady on the ground with her throat slit. He drops to his knees at her side and presses his hands to her neck, trying to stop the bleeding but also not suffocate her at the same time. "Hey, I need some help over here! Call an ambulance!"

People come running but they crowd around him, staring in horror, but not fucking doing anything.

"Hey," he yells over his shoulder. "Call a fucking ambulance! Right now!"

Phones come out and Isaac turns back to the old lady. She's still conscious and gasping for breath, eyes brimming with tears.

"Hey," Isaac says, trying to be reassuring, but his voice shakes too much to be of much use. "Lady, just relax. You're going to be fine, I promise."

After what seems like forever, paramedics come and take the woman away, leaving Isaac with bloody hands. There's some on his shirt too that he's not sure how it got there and is just trying to figure out what to do when the Sheriff shows up, Scott and Stiles in tow. The Sheriff takes one look at Isaac and his expression turns murderous.

"Oh, fuck," he says and is not at all surprised when he ends up in bracelets about ten seconds later.

"Hey, I didn't fucking _do_ anything!" he protests as the Sheriff and one other cop drag him out of the library. He knows better than to resist arrest though.

They get him out the doors, people taking pictures with their phones as he goes-_everyone_ has a smartphone in this fucking town-and then the other cop actually starts reading him his rights. Like he thinks he's a TV cop or something.

"How many episodes of Law & Order did you have to watch to memorize that shit?" Isaac asks sarcastically and is unceremoniously shoved in the back of the squad car by the Sheriff.

"I don't have time to deal with you now," the Sheriff says when they get to the station, dragging him into a cell. "So you're going to cool your heels in here until I figure out what's going on."

"I said I didn't fucking do anything," Isaac snarls, noting the narrowness of the cell, but the Sheriff pays him no mind, taking off the handcuffs deftly and shoving Isaac back down onto the cot.

"Stay down, if you know what's good for you," the Sheriff says coldly and slams the door behind him.

"Hey, motherfucker, let me out!" Isaac yells, leaping to his feet furiously. "Listen, asshole, I have to work tonight!"

There's no response and Isaac slams his fist against the wall and is gratified to see it splinter. He can't believe he just fucking got arrested. He's never been arrested before and after three weeks in bumfuck nowhere is when he gets snatched up?

Save some old bitch's life, get arrested. Fucking police. He should've known that they'd be bastards here too.

Isaac sits back down on the cot and glares around the cell. It's just small enough to make him uncomfortable, but not small enough that he starts panicking and not being able to breathe properly. The lights are on too, and they better stay fucking on or he's not going to be responsible for what he does next. Isaac eyes the door. He could probably break it down if he wanted.

He closes his eyes and listens to the flurry of movement in the station, cops talking on the phones, filling out their paperwork, bringing in people to take statements. One of those people better tell them that Isaac was only trying to _help_.

His hands are still bloody and Isaac's shirt is already a lost cause, so he wipes them as best he can on it and sags against the wall. It doesn't look like he's going anywhere soon.

They keep him in there all night and well into the next day. He keeps his ears open for new developments, but to his fury it appears that the cops have totally forgotten about him except to give him breakfast and lunch. Like he has any appetite whatsoever in this tiny space. Instead, most of their conversations appear to be about the murder of the old man in the woods. Maybe it's a serial killer going after old people, Isaac thinks the third time the Sheriff asks his deputies what "the pattern" is. Just when Isaac thinks he can't do it anymore, can't stand being in this tiny room with nothing to do and that he's going to have to bust out, his cell door is unlocked and swung open.

"Alright, you can come on out of there," the Sheriff says.

Isaac looks at him suspiciously, but sees no other choice than to come out of his cell. Carefully, though. Who knows what a small town Sheriff would do to protect disaster zone like Beacon Hills? He's relieved to see that the Sheriff's not alone and that he's flanked by a young deputy.

"You want something from the machine?" the young guy asks, giving Isaac a warm smile.

Isaac crosses his arms over his chest defensively. "No."

He's gratified to see the deputy's smile falter.

"Over here," the Sheriff says gruffly. To Isaac's surprise, they don't take him to the interrogation room, but instead into the Sheriff's office. 'Sheriff Stilinski', the placard on his desk reads. Isaac guesses that's where 'Stiles' comes from.

"Sit down," the Sheriff says, face still inscrutable.

Isaac sits and hopes that they aren't about to tell him to get out of town.

"Mrs. Jacobs, the woman from the library yesterday, just regained consciousness at Beacon Hills Memorial," the Sheriff says, watching Isaac's reactions carefully. "She identified you as her rescuer."

Isaac resists the urge to say 'I told you so.' He's so angry that he doesn't think any good could come from it.

"She described her attacker as young blonde woman, late-twenties, early-thirties," the Sheriff continues when Isaac doesn't respond, "wearing a blue sweater, jeans, and high heels. That sound about right to you?"

"Yeah," Isaac says, even though he has no idea what the woman was wearing.

"Is there anything else you can tell us about the attack?" the Sheriff presses, leaning over his desk on his elbows to look at Isaac intently. "Anything...odd?"

Isaac frowns and looks over to the other deputy questioningly.

"Deputy Parrish is well aware of the supernatural elements in our town," the Sheriff says and Isaac grits his teeth angrily. Great. Another person who knows he's a werewolf.

"She was trying to collect her blood in a bowl," Isaac says shortly. "I'd say that's pretty fuc-pretty odd."

This information doesn't seem to surprise them. Isaac supposes the old lady told them that part.

"Anything else? She didn't say anything to you?"

"Nope," Isaac says, with a careless shrug and looks at the clock. Shit, it's almost two in the afternoon. There's no point in going to school now. "Are we done?"

They exchange glances, but the Sheriff sighs and waves him off. "Yeah, alright, you're free to go. Deputy Parrish will get your things."

Parrish takes him to the waiting room while he gets Isaac's jacket and cell phone out of storage. The woman cop at the front desk stares at his blood stained shirt and hands and Isaac has to close his eyes and breathe deeply to avoid yelling at her to piss off.

"Here you go," Parrish says, handing Isaac his bag of stuff. He frowns as he looks at Isaac's shirt. "We can give you another shirt if you want. I'm pretty sure we still have t-shirts from the barbeque last summer."

"No...thanks," Isaac mutters, grabbing his jacket out of the bag and zipping it up to cover the blood stains.

He checks his phone and groans internally when he sees six missed calls from Mr. Park at the gas station.

"Bathroom's just done the hall," Parrish says, looking at his dirty hands. "And we called the school explaining why you weren't in today."

Isaac resists the urge to roll his eyes. He's sure that went over well with the high school.

"Yeah, well, it's how I'm going to explain this to my boss that I'm more worried about," Isaac grumbles, looking around for the bathroom Parrish mentioned.

"Oh, would you like us to call him or her as well?" Parrish asks and Isaac jerks back to look at him in surprise.

"Really?"

The deputy looks confused. "Why not? Here, write their name and number down here," he grabs a sticky note off the front desk and hands it to Isaac, "and we'll give them a call this afternoon to explain the situation."

What was the situation exactly? The Sheriff wasn't really clear on that. But Isaac writes down Mr. Park's information anyway, because he's probably going to get fired anyway, so why not? Parrish then helpfully shows him to the bathroom so he can wash his hands and actually _apologizes_ for the misunderstanding as Isaac leaves the station. He even offers to give Isaac a ride home in his squad car, but Isaac is far too creeped out by his demeanor at this point and declines quickly, electing to walk back just to get away from him.

Maybe the Sheriff hadn't told him he was a werewolf, he thinks as he walks along the road back to the library to pick up his chair. Or, with his luck, he's probably some faggot that likes to fuck teenage boys.

It's takes him an hour to get back home and he listens to Mr. Park's increasingly angry messages that finally culminate with him telling Isaac not to bother coming into work tonight. Maybe the Sheriff's Station will call him, maybe they won't, but until Isaac hears otherwise, it looks like he's fired. If Isaac was smart he'd start looking for another job immediately, but he's exhausted and still feeling slightly sick from his fitful night in that tiny cell. He's actually sore from that piece of shit cot, which is surprising because Isaac thought that as a werewolf he couldn't even _get_ sore anymore.

No more work or homework tonight, Isaac decides as he unlocks his front door and drops his bag on the floor. He's just going to go to bed and sleep until school tomorrow. Then afterward he can figure out the job situation.

There are five people standing in his living room.

Isaac freezes, his heart rate rocketing up as he takes them in. Three women, two men, including the blonde woman from the library who is indeed wearing a blue sweater, jeans, and high heels. They're all white, except for one Chinese guy, and the blonde woman's probably the youngest of them. And they're all looking at him with these little smirks that send fear spreading through his chest like ice.

Isaac makes for the still open door, but it slams shut of its own accord.

"So," a tall woman with long gray hair tied back in a braid like she thinks she's a fucking Indian says, stepping forward. She has shockingly light blue eyes and round face that seems at odd with her willowy body. "This is the werewolf."

"Who the f-fuck are you?" Isaac says, hating himself for the break in his voice. The gray haired woman is dangerous. He needs to get out of here.

"To be honest, I'm a little surprised," she continues, looking at him with scientific curiosity. "I heard the surviving Hales left Beacon Hills for good. Thomas," she turns to the short white guy with thinning hair on her right, "what do you make of him?"

'Thomas' looks Isaac over carefully like they're all looking at him, like an animal in the zoo.

"An omega...right?" he says, looking to the woman for confirmation.

That's the second time Isaac's heard that word and he has still no idea what it means.

"Undoubtedly," the woman says, stepping forward, her long skirt dragging slightly against his floor. "Probably drawn here by the Nemeton's power."

"Stay back," Isaac snarls, letting his claws lengthen and fangs grow so he can fend he-

-fend her-

-off...

There's a sword in his chest.

He almost doesn't feel it at first and has to look down to see that, yes, the crazy bitch just stabbed him with a sword, so fast he couldn't see it coming.

Then the pain hits, more intense than Isaac has ever felt, paralyzing him so he can't even scream. He lets a horrible dying rasp and sinks to his knees, head dropping down to stare at the blood pooling at his knees. Ridiculously, he wonders how he's going to get it out of the floorboards.

The woman keeps talking, like she's instructing the others on how to _stab people_, but Isaac only catches every other word. He hears something about 'wolfsbane' and 'twenty four hours' before she leans down and pulls the sword out of his chest.

Isaac does let out a scream then, but he falls face first on the floor and that ends up muffling it some. He feels the blood spread across the floor to hit his chin and then he can't even feel the pain anymore.

* * *

When he wakes up, morning light is streaming across his face and his chest and back are on fire. Isaac whimpers and tries to turn over, but his movement are hampered by drying blood and stabbing pains that start in his chest and spread everywhere.

"Oh, shit," he sobs out, arms shaking so badly that it takes four tries to turn over onto his side. His head spins, but he manages to regain his focus and stares down at the blood soaked floor.

There's a lot of blood. If he wasn't a werewolf he'd surely be dead. His hands, left side of his face and entire shirt and jacket are soaked with it. As far as he can tell, his jeans are still okay, and he slowly maneuvers himself up into a seated position, unzipping his jacket with shaky hands and lifting up his shirt to inspect the damage.

The wound is right below his heart-the sword went completely through if the pain in his back is any indication-and it seems to have stopped bleeding. But the little blood that is oozing out of the wound is black, which does not look good.

Isaac closes his eyes and fumbles for his cell phone. He can't go to the hospital, doesn't have the money and he couldn't explain why he wasn't dead from a wound as bad as this. Anyway, he's been stabbed before. Nothing as bad as this, but the fact that he's not dead is promising. He'll heal. He always does.

The digital clock on his cell phone reads 7:23. He has an hour to get cleaned up and get to school. In any other scenario he'd skip, but he's pretty sure he's already he's already failing Physics, and he missed yesterday too.

It takes him longer than he'd like to get to his feet, and even then he nearly collapses against the wall. Taking off his jacket and shirt is pure torture, both ruined now from the blood and the holes in them from the sword, but he manages to remove them without screaming, which he gives himself points for. Isaac stumbles into the bathroom, leaving a bloody handprint on the wall as he fumbles for the light switch.

"Fuck," he says, observing himself in the mirror. Isaac was already a pasty Mick, but now he looks like someone sucked all the color out of his skin. It could be worse, he reminds himself. At least he doesn't have blood in his hair, because he really does not have time for a shower. He washes off as best as he can with water and paper towels, but even after he's done the wound is still oozing black blood. He's freezing as well, shaking badly from both the pain and the cold, and he doesn't think it's just because he doesn't use the heating. He doesn't have much time left, so Isaac limps into the kitchen, grabs two dish rags and duct tapes them over the wound. He doesn't have bandages, after all.

The one on his chest goes on easy enough, but reaching his hands behind him to get at his back sends agony coursing through him, causing sobs of pain to wrack through him for nearly a minute after he's done.

Look at you, crying like a little bitch, he thinks, rubbing his face furiously. It's not that bad, get over it!

Getting up and down the stairs to get a new shirt and hoodie is a nightmare, not to mention actually putting them on, but he manages to get out of the house on time.

From then on, it's just a disaster. He's shaking so badly in the car that it isn't until several cars honk at him angrily that he realizes he's going fifteen miles under the speed limit. He gets to school, parks, and then realizes he forgot his backpack at home, with no time for him to go back and get it. By the time he gets to History class he's so out of breath that he all but collapses into his seat, sweating profusely, and feels the duct tape start to slip. Even worse, the stabbing pains in his chest are only intensifying and it's getting harder to believe his own internal mantra of _just relax, don't panic, give it time and you'll heal_.

Isaac has no memory of what goes on in that class. He spends most of it staring at his desk, hands clutching the bottom of seat and trying not to whimper at each new wave of pain that comes over him.

When the bell rings Isaac forces himself out of the seat as fast as he can, and heads for the bathroom to splash water on his face. To his horror, the face looking back at him from the mirror looks even worse than it did this morning, his eyes flickering gold every couple seconds.

Shit!

He gets out of there as fast as he can to avoid attracting any attention, keeping his eyes glued to the floor as he walks towards his locker. The bell rings as he messes with the lock, trying to remember his combination, and he winces, but does not give up until it clicks open.

But when he opens his locker another stabbing pain, the worst yet, hits him and Isaac has to cling to the door of his locker to remain upright.

"Isaac?"

Shit. He knows that voice. The Mexic-Scott. How could he have forgotten about him? He was in History class this morning and he must have noticed-

"Hey, are you alright?"

Isaac doesn't trust himself to speak and tries to give a dismissive grunt, but it comes out more like a groan.

He tries to turn away from Scott, get away while he still can, but his knees decide it's the perfect time to buckle and the last thing he sees is Scott's face swimming worriedly above him before he passes out for the second time.

**A/N: I'm sorry, I just can't help but be mean to my characters. There's just something about them that makes me want to torture them. But don't worry, it gets better! (Eventually...)**

**Please review and let me know what you think!**


	6. Scott II

Scott just barely catches him before he hits the floor, nearly slamming his head against Isaac's open locker for his trouble.

"Hey, hey, Isaac!" he says, slapping his cheeks, but Isaac is already out cold, white as a sheet, the smell of blood and rot coming off him in waves.

Scott heaves him upright, grabbing him around the waist and pulling Isaac's arm over his shoulder. He needs to get out of here _now_.

"Hey, is he alright?" a girl in a group of passing freshman asks, looking concerned.

"Uh, yeah," Scott says quickly, trying to shift so she can't see Isaac's face. "Just feeling a bit sick, so I'm taking him to the nurse's office."

And he drags Isaac as quickly as he can down the hallway. He manages to get out into the parking lot without getting stopped and leans Isaac against Stiles's jeep, while he texts him as fast as he can.

_911 parking lot NOW_

He only has to wait two minutes before Stiles streaks out the school doors, nearly colliding with his own car as he fails to slow down in time.

"What? What is it? What happe-Jesus Christ!"

"We needs to take him to Deaton's," Scott says, picking Isaac up again. Stiles continues to stare at Isaac's unconscious body. "Stiles!"

"Oh, right, yeah, okay," Stiles says, fumbling with his keys.

Scott puts Isaac in the backseat and jumps in after him while Stiles starts the car and hightails it out of the parking lot.

"What's wrong with him?" Stiles asks, looking back at them through the rearview mirror.

Scott doesn't answer right away, lifting up Isaac's hoodie and t-shirt undeneath to reveal-

"Oh, grosss," Stiles moans from the front seat. "Did he _duct tape_ a rag to his chest? Is that what happened?"

The rag is soaked in black blood and the smell coming off it can only be one thing.

"Wolfsbane," Scott says and then holds his breath while he peels away the rag to look at the wound underneath. "It looks like someone stabbed him with a sword."

"Of course they did," Stiles says bitterly and Scott tries not to think too hard about what he means by that.

He pulls Isaac forward and checks under the back of his shirt, Isaac's head lolling onto his shoulder. There's another rag there as well. His hand comes away black.

"Yeah, definitely a sword," Scott says, setting Isaac back against the seat and getting out his cell phone to dial Deaton. "It went all the way through his bac-Hey, we have an emergency and we need to come in."

_"Scott, I have a couple here with their cat for a check-up, is there anyway this ca-"_

"I'm sorry, it really can't," Scott says, checking over Isaac's face carefully. His breaths are very shallow and his heartbeat is slow. "I have a werewolf here who I'm pretty sure has been poisoned with wolfsbane and he's not looking so good, so can you get rid of them?"

_"Alright, but wait for me to give you all the clear_._"_

"Scott, what the hell's going on?" Stiles asks, voice tight. "Do you think it has to do with the same people that killed that man and slit that woman's throat at the library two days ago?"

Scott puts his cell phone back in his pocket and sits back in his seat, but doesn't take his eyes off Isaac's prone form. He looks very different when he's unconscious, surprisingly vulnerable. Probably something to do with the lack of nasty smirk and excessive swearing.

"Definitely," he says, feeling numb, because here we go again. Invasion of Beacon Hills number six. "This was retaliation."

Isaac doesn't stir, not even when they accidentally knock his shoulder against the door frame getting him into the clinic. Deaton helps get him onto the table and then cuts away his shirt with scissors with surprising speed, peeling back the rag taped to Isaac's chest with a disgusted look.

"Oh my God," Stiles moans quietly, backing away. "That is _disgusting_."

"Definitely wolfsbane," Deaton says, dabbing at the wound with a cotton ball. "Probably Nordic Blue Monkshood, by the severity."

"Nordic Blue-is that the same-"

"Yeah," Scott says, opening the cabinet of Deaton's less medicinal and more supernatural herbs. "That's what Kate used when she shot Derek last year." It was just about a year ago, wasn't it? How things have changed since then.

He grabs the jar labeled Nordic Blue Monkshood and hands it to Deaton, who's rifling through his tools for a lighter.

"You think this is hunters then?" Stiles says, looking pointedly at Scott instead of at Isaac. "With a sword? That doesn't sound very huntery."

"A sword?" Deaton says, looking up at him in askance.

"Gerard had a sword," Scott responds. "Yeah, there's an exit wound on his back."

He lifts Isaac's torso up enough so Deaton can examine his back, removing the pieces of his shirt and hoodie and the other blood-soaked rag.

"Alright, hold him up," his boss says, pouring a small amount of wolfsbane into a metal container and setting it on fire.

"Oookay," Stiles says, backing away. "I'm just going to..."

Scott grabs Isaac tightly by his bare shoulders and holds him as Deaton brings the burning wolfsbane up to the stab wound and presses it in.

Isaac jerks, bright gold eyes snapping open, a roar of pain tearing through his throat. Scott has to hook his arm around his neck to keep him from falling off the table. The roar ends in a pained whimper and his eyes slip shut as Deaton removes the wolfsbane and they switch positions so Deaton can do the other side. The second time he doesn't react at all other than stiffening up. When it's done, Isaac sags forward into Scott's arms.

"Is he going to be okay?" Scott asks. The wound is no longer dripping black blood, but it hasn't disappeared like Derek's did.

"He should be fine, but it's going to take awhile for him to heal completely," Deaton says, already moving over to the cabinet to get bandages and gauze. "You're lucky you brought him in when you did. If you'd been even half an hour later, he probably wouldn't have made it."

Stiles and Scott exchange twin wide-eyed looks.

"And to answer your earlier question," Deaton continues, beginning to tape gauze to Isaac's back. "If there were hunters in Beacon Hills, wouldn't Chris be aware of them? The Argents are fairly well-known in the hunter community, after all."

"Maybe they heard he was out?" Stiles suggests, but it's a weak proposal.

"They'd probably at least contact him and let him know they were here," Scott says, setting Isaac gently down onto his side on the metal table so Deaton can bandage his chest. "No, this was because he got in the way of killing that woman the day before yesterday, I'm sure of it."

"It could have been something else," Stiles argues, looking down at Isaac disdainfully. "Maybe he just really pissed someone off."

Scott gives him an annoyed look.

"What? He's an asshole! There's got to be someone out there that hates him enough to stab him!"

"Stab him with wolfsbane?" Deaton says, throwing away his plastic gloves. "Unlikely. I take it this is the new werewolf?"

"Yeah," Scott says and Stiles lets out a snort of contempt.

"Have you considered that he could be involved with the murder at the Nemeton?"

Scott gives Isaac a cursory look. Deathly pale, unconscious, and horribly injured, it's hard to imagine him committing ritual sacrifices in the dead of night. Not to mention that it probably requires a certain subtlety and cunning that Isaac clearly lacks.

"No, I don't think so. I think he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time." He looks up to see a strange contemplative look on Deaton's face. "What? What is it?"

"I could be wrong," Deaton says in that tone of voice that means he's isn't, "but if it isn't hunters..."

"Could it be another Darachs? Darachai?" Stiles says excitedly. "What's the plural of Darach?"

"Probably not. A Darach is a rare occurrence. But their use of wolfsbane suggests familiarity with the supernatural, and that combined with the murder at the Nemeton..."

"Means what?"

Deaton swallows. "Last year I told you that druids are scholars, wise men and women who use their knowledge of the supernatural for the common good. The Nemeton was originally cared for by druids, who used its power to protect the people who lived here. But there are others aware of the supernatural who would attempt to steal its power for their own purposes." He gives Scott a piercing look. "I told you that when you sacrificed yourself to find your parents that it would be giving power back to the Nemeton."

"You said that it would draw things here," Scott says slowly, feeling the darkness curl inside him as he remembers that night.

"It doesn't look like we have to wait any longer," Deaton says, gesturing at Isaac. "They're here. Those that would steal the Nemeton's power."

"Who?" Stiles asks, hands clenches at his sides.

"Witches."

"Witches," Scott repeats incredulously, though to be honest, after werewolves, hunters, kanima, alpha packs, oni, nogitsune, and werejaguars, he probably should just stop being surprised.

"Witches exist?" Stiles says, looking utterly betrayed. "And they're evil? You're just telling us this _now_?!"

"They've never had reason to come to Beacon Hills, not with the Nemeton dormant," Deaton explains. Scott can't help but notice that he looks incredibly nervous. That can't be a good sign.

"What do they want?" Scott asks, but he can already guess.

"The Nemeton's power," Deaton replies, as expected. "That man you found was most likely intended to be a sacrifice to the Nemeton, to add to its power before they harvest it. In ordinary circumstances, it would take decades for the Nemeton to regain it's former power, even with your sacrifices jumpstarting the process. Sacrifices can speed up the process."

"Alright, but how do we stop them?" Stiles asks, pacing impatiently. His heart rate has jumped and Scott wants to reach out and comfort him, but he knows Stiles is trying to put on a good face and wouldn't appreciate his concern in front of Deaton.

"Let me finish," Deaton says, holding up a hand. "I said the man was _intended_ to be a sacrifice. However, it didn't work."

"It didn't work?" Stiles repeats, frowning. "Why not?"

"Virgins, Warriors, Healers, Philosophers, and Guardians," Deaton recites, smiling a bit now. "This man was none of these. It appears he was chosen at random."

"How can you tell?" Scott asks. The Nemeton was a stump. How could Deaton tell if the sacrifice worked or not?

Deaton smiles slightly. "I can tell. But more importantly, it means that this particular coven doesn't know anything about the Nemeton other than it is a potential source of power."

"That's why they stabbed that guy through the heart, but then tried to slit that woman's throat," Scott realizes. "They're trying different things."

"Any chance, they'll just, you know, give up if they can't figure it out?" Stiles asks and then sighs at their expressions, shoulders slumping. "Yeah, we aren't that lucky."

"Eventually, they'll find someone who fits that criteria," Deaton warns. "Whether they realize it or not. But this does mean we have an advantage over them."

"If they don't know about the Nemeton, does that mean that they aren't that powerful?" Scott says, trying to think of any advantage the could have over a group of witches. "How powerful are witches anyway? What can they do?"

Deaton shrugs. "It varies from coven to coven. Some can only perform minor hexes or curses, while others can go as far as to change the weather or influence the mind. I doubt anyone that powerful would be interested in the Nemeton, though."

Stiles had gone very still when Deaton mentioned what basically amounted to mind control.

"So they're just going to keep killing people until something works?" Scott says, feeling something begin to ache in his chest. Not again. This can't keep happening.

"I honestly have no idea," Deaton says and then looks back at Isaac. "I suggest we wait until he regains consciousness. Perhaps he has something useful to tell us about his attackers."

"Whether he decides to tell us or not is a completely different story," Stiles grumbles and Scott can't help but agree with this sentiment.

Deaton tells them more about what he knows about witches, while Scott texts his mother to tell her that he had to leave school again, but that she's not to worry. It's a futile gesture, though. His mother hasn't stopped worrying about him since she discovered he was a werewolf.

Deaton ends up getting out some books he keeps in the backroom with the computer and Scott and Stiles end up getting so engrossed in the many kinds of witches that they forget all about Isaac.

Or at least they do until a loud metal crash comes from the operating room, followed by the sound of Isaac using words that Scott's mother would ground him for weeks if she ever caught him using.

As they rush back into the operating room, Scott belatedly realizes that he probably should've warned his boss about Isaac Lahey's less than charming personality.

Isaac is on the floor when they enter the room, after presumably falling off the operating table, which is on its side next to him. His eyes widen when he sees them and he scrambles backwards until his back hits the brick wall.

"The _fuck_ is this?!" he roars, eyes glowing gold, looking angry and panicked.

"Relax," Deaton says soothingly and Scott winces because he can already tell that it's a mistake. "You were very badly injured and Scott and Stiles brought you here to-"

"Who the fucking fuck are you?!" Isaac snarls, turning towards him with fangs bared.

"He's the guy who just saved your life, so maybe you want to show a little gratitude, huh?" Stiles says coldly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Not really helping, Stiles, Scott thinks and then turns back to Isaac, holding his hands out non-threateningly.

"Listen, you were attacked, right?" he says slowly. "You passed out and were bleeding pretty badly, so we brought you here. You were poisoned, by wolfsbane."

"Where are my clothes?" Isaac snarls, not at all pacified by Scott's explanation. He's hunched over now, knees up, as if trying to shield his bare torso from attack.

"Uh," Scott looks towards the biohazard bag he'd seen Deaton put the remains of Isaac's bloody shirt and hoodie into. "We had to cut them off you to look at your injuries-"

"You cut them off?!"

"You were poisoned," Scott repeats, as calmly as possible. "By wolfsbane. Do you remember who attacked you?"

Isaac doesn't even appear to hear his question, seeming to be a lot more preoccupied with taking in his surroundings. He doubletakes when he catches a glimpse of the poster on gum disease in dogs.

"What the fuck is this?" he asks, his voice gone high and reedy. "Is this a fucking _animal clinic_?!"

"Yeah, well, we did think it was fitting."

"Stiles!" Scott says sharply and Stiles sighs and takes a couple steps back. Scott crouches down so he's on the same level as Isaac, but does not move any closer to him, like he's a skittish cat. "Isaac, do you remember who attacked you?"

Isaac gives him a strange look, still breathing heavily, and nods jerkily.

"Was it the same woman who tried to kill that old woman in the library?"

"Yeah, she was there. She was one of them," Isaac says, eyes going back to their normal color, but his heart rate is still faster than normal and he doesn't move from his defensive position against the wall.

"One of them? How many were there?"

Isaac frowns, running one hand through his hair shakily. "I don't. Five. I think."

"Did they say anything?" Stiles asks and Isaac's head snaps up to look at him, as if he'd forgotten he was there all together. "Like what they wanted?"

Isaac shakes his head. "No," he says, shifting uncomfortably and looking down at the bandage on his chest. "No, I don't. They didn't say nothing. She just..." He brings his hand up to the bandage and then winces.

"Stabbed you with a sword?" Stiles says indelicately.

Isaac looks back up at him and glares. He gives the room a quick once over and then gets to his feet.

"I'm leaving now," he says, tense with the distrust he obviously feels for them.

"Wait," Scott says, getting to his feet as well. "We just need to ask you a few more questions abou-"

"I _said_, I'm leaving!" Isaac flashes his eyes at him again. "Get out of my way."

"Hey, we saved your life!" Stiles protests. "The least you can do is-"

"I didn't ask for that," Isaac shoots back. "I don't even know who the fuck he is!" he continues, jerking his head towards Deaton. "I ain't a part of whatever game you're in and I don't aim to be neither, so back the fuck off and let me by!"

"Like that?" Scott asks without thinking, looking at Isaac's mostly bare chest.

Isaac gives him a furious look and storms past him into the waiting room. A second later the clinic door slams behind him.

"Ungrateful dick," Stiles grouses. "After we just saved his miserable werewolf ass...He's worse than Jackson."

"You'd better keep an eye on him," Deaton says mildly, righting his operating table.

"Yeah, I will," Scott says, but he's barely thinking about Isaac now. Instead he's thinking about the witches, five of them apparently, that have come for the Nemeton's power and are willing to murder innocent people to get it.

He and Stiles discuss their next course of action as they drive back to school (they'll make the last two periods), with little enthusiasm.

"Witches, though, seriously?" Stiles complains, as they park and head back into the building. "I'm never going to be able to read Harry Potter again by the time this is over, am I?"

Probably not, Scott thinks pessimistically. He'll certainly never be able to think of ninjas without remembering the sound of Allison's voice as she struggled to get out her dying words, the blood on her lips, the weight of her in his arms as he felt her life leave her body, and the look on her face as the light left her eyes.

**A/N: I don't know why I find Isaac so funny when he's being a dick. I just do, I can't help it! Don't hesitate to leave a review!**


	7. Isaac V

**A/N: Warning: this chapter contains non-graphic discussions of the sexual abuse of a child and underage prostitution.**

* * *

Isaac spends the next two weeks in a state of acute paranoia. Every time he opens his door at the end of the day he expects to see the gray-haired woman standing there with a sword, ready to finish the job. He may have gotten on a couple kids' bad sides in LA, especially after he became a werewolf, but no one has ever tried to _kill him _before. Also, Stiles keeps glaring at him in the hallways, like Isaac stole his girl, and it's extremely irritating. He supposes he should be glad that Scott doesn't seem all that interested in him, but he's still infuriated that they actually _saved his life_. He doesn't want to be in Scott's debt, well, he doesn't want to be in anyone's debt, but the fact that it's Scott just makes it worse. He'll never be able to pay that shit back.

School only gets worse. As February arrives, so do parent-teacher conferences, resulting in a lot of awkward conversations with his teachers explaining, that no, he doesn't have parents, and no, he can't come to meet with them anyway about his dismal grades because he has to work that night.

Work is the only silver-lining in all of this mess. The Sheriff's Station did apparently call Mr. Park and blatantly made up some bullshit about Isaac assisting on the case of the woman he saved. Mr. Park reluctantly takes him back with the caveat that next time he not be a fucking hero and let someone else intervene in attempted murders. Isaac is surprised that they actually went through with calling his boss, even more so that they left out the part about them arresting him for attempted murder, but he still hasn't entirely forgiven them for locking him up for the night and half the next day and he won't anytime soon.

Still, just when things seem to get back to normal, or whatever passes for normal in his life, something entirely unexpected occurs. And not something supernatural. Something to do with actual real life.

The knock comes on his door less than five minutes after he'd come back from school. Isaac is in the middle of making ramen in the microwave, stomach growling impatiently, and he frowns, looking towards the door cautiously. Had they finally came back to kill him?

He closes his eyes and focuses his other senses. He can hear two heartbeats, one faster than the other, but that smell...

His eyes snap open. That smell-!

Isaac flies out of the kitchen and into the living room, pulling the front door open quickly. "Chantille?" he says incredulously.

Chantille Edwards looks shocked at his ability to identify her before he even opened the door, but then her face softens and she offers him a weary smile. "Damn, boy, I almost forgot about your creepy sixth sense."

On Isaac's stoop with her is a little girl who can only be her sister. She has the same dark skin and wide doe eyes as Chantille, her hair pulled back into two small poofy pigtails. She's wearing a red polo and khaki pants, a school uniform, and is clutching Chantille's hand tightly, looking up at Isaac with unveiled suspicion.

"What...what are you doing here?" Isaac says, completely thrown. This is the last place he'd expect to see Chantille.

Chantille heaves her duffel bag further up onto her shoulder. "Yeah, about that," she says with a winning smile. "I was wondering if I could ask you a favor."

He hasn't seen Chantille in about four months. She'd been his foster sister when he'd temporarily lived in a foster home two years ago, about six months after he became a werewolf. Their personalities couldn't have been any different and as a result, they hadn't actually gotten on that well in the beginning. Chantille was energetic, mischievous, and sexually-forward, even at thirteen, while Isaac had been introverted, sarcastic, and suspicious of everyone and everything. But they had been the two oldest foster children, with three elementary school-aged foster siblings, and increasingly harried foster parents, and for a while they had been a team. Even after Isaac got sent back to the group home, he'd still see her occasionally. Sadly enough, she's probably the closest thing to a friend he's got.

He's always known Chantille had a little sister; she'd certainly talked about her enough. She'd been placed elsewhere, but Chantille had often gone to see her and always swore she would get custody of her when she turned eighteen. He's never met her before though.

Chantille's sister sits on his couch eating his cup ramen, keeping her eyes fixed on her food while Isaac looks dubiously into the fridge.

"I have...uh...applesauce and frozen burritos," Isaac says taking them out and putting them on the counter top. "Some mac and cheese too, but I don't have butter or milk...I was going to go shopping tonight."

Chantille nods distractedly. "Thanks," she says, smiling at him. "It's just a couple days, I promise. We just needed to get out of LA"

Isaac looks at her carefully. The last time he'd seen her Chantille's hair was in braids. Now it's relaxed, nearly touching her shoulders. It and the way she carries herself makes her look older. Isaac is not entirely sure that's a good thing.

"What happened?" he asks quietly, leaning against the counter next to the fridge.

Chantille shrugs. "Just...some crazy shit went down and we had to bail," she says easily.

"Where are you headed?"

"Seattle."

Isaac stares. "Seattle? What the fuck are you going to do in Seattle?" Another thought occurs to him. "Chantille, did you _kidnap_ your sister and-"

"Yeah, what of it," Chantille says giving him an unimpressed look, crossing her arms over her worn jean jacket. "Not like anyone will give a shit. And we'll be gone before anyone here notices, so don't worry about it coming back on you."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Just a couple days," Chantille repeats, ignoring his concerns. "And...I might need to borrow some cash. Some asshole stole most of it on the way here. But don't worry, I'm good for it."

Isaac stares at her. Something is wrong. There's no way Chantille would just up and leave LA, taking her younger sister with her hundreds of miles north to a city she's never been to before, and doesn't know anyone at. She's always been kind of impulsive, but she'd never do anything this crazy without a reason.

"Hey, don't look like that now," Chantille says, giving him an easy smile. "I'll make it worth your while."

And she steps closer, reaching her hand out to tug at the belt loops on his left hip.

Isaac goes very still and then reaches down to grab her hand and pull it away.

"Don't," he snarls, but inside there's a horrible numbness growing as he realizes the implications of her actions. "I told you not to do that shit."

Chantille sighs, stepping back, looking completely unruffled. "Should've known you'd still be Snow White. See what I get for trying to do you a favor."

"You don't need to sleep with me to stay here," Isaac says sharply, still feeling sick. "Don't you ever fucking think that."

Chantille goes very still and for the first time since her arrival she seems to lose her confidence. Her shoulders slump the tiniest amount and she gives a jerky nod, not looking at him.

"Chantille," Isaac says, leaning over a bit, trying to see her face. Chantille barely reaches five feet, making him more than a foot taller than her. "What happened?"

Chantille lets out a bitter laugh. "What's the thing you always used to tell me? Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to? Yeah, that sounds about right."

Isaac does his best to clean up Camden's room for Chantille and Latisha. Latisha, who still looks at Isaac like she's expecting him to pull a knife on her, refuses to let Chantille out of her sight. This doesn't bode well, but Chantille won't give him a straight answer on exactly what happened. In addition to being a skilled liar, it doesn't help that Chantille knows he can tell truth from a blatant falsehood and gives him vague replies that he cannot make heads or tail of. Latisha, who appears to be about eight or nine, barely speaks at all. Dinner is a very strange affair. Isaac hasn't eaten dinner with other people in this house since he was eleven and it's even more surreal eating with people from LA, two halves of his life that he's always had trouble reconciling.

Chantille won't let him do the dishes, which strikes Isaac as odd considering how she'd always hated doing them when they lived together, and insists that he go about his usual routine as if she and her sister weren't even there. Isaac doesn't have the heart to tell her that he'd planned to go to the library to study before work. She won't tell him anything she wants him to pick up either, and she and Latisha have retreated upstairs to bed by the time he leaves for work.

Isaac returns from work with extra strength floor cleaner and spends nearly an hour trying to scrub his blood out of the living room floor. He should've done this weeks ago, but he'd been so busy lately, and it wasn't like he's thought he'd be having guests of the non-murderous variety. But while neither Chantille nor Latisha seemed to notice it this time, it is quite clearly blood, and if they're going to be spending more time here he has to minimize the things he can't explain.

Chantille and Latisha are both still asleep when he looks in on them before he leaves for school in the morning. They must have been exhausted because the windows in Camden's room face east and Isaac had to get rid of the curtains when he'd moved back in because there had been something_ growing_ in them, so there's sunlight streaming through them without obstruction.

Leaving the house with the prospect of someone waiting for him when he comes home is a strange sensation. Isaac spends far too much thought on what could have possibly happened that would make Chantille run away with her sister. And why to Seattle of all places? How is she going to survive there? Chantille is fifteen and she looks it. Isaac doubts anyone will believe she is an adult, much less that she'd gotten custody of her younger sister without a job or a place to live. Worse, the phantom touch of her fingers on his jeans keeps coming back to him, and the implications of her offer make his skin crawl.

It's not like it's the first time that Chantille's come on to him, though. Back when they'd lived together Isaac made the mistake of admitting that he had no experience with girls, and Chantille, amused at the idea that he was a virgin, decided that popping his cherry was a brilliant idea. She'd gone about it in the worst way possible though, and one night Isaac had woken up to find her in bed with him, her hands up his shirt. She was thirteen and he was fifteen, he was bigger and taller than her, and also a _werewolf_, but she'd still scared the shit out of him. He'd freaked out, thinking he was back in the group home and practically fell out of the window trying to get away from her. She'd apologized later, because of how badly he took it, but he could tell that she didn't really understand what she'd done wrong. The idea of a man not wanting sex never seemed to have occurred to her.

Isaac comes back from school to find Latisha lying on his living room floor coloring on a yellow notepad with colored pencils. She looks up at him warily as he opens the door, one hand flat on the floor, elbow bent, as if ready to flee at a moment's notice.

"Uh, hi," Isaac says awkwardly, putting his jacket over the back of the couch. His new jacket, after that old bitch had stabbed him with a sword, ruining the old one, and that black animal doctor had _cut his hoodie off_. Who the fuck does that? Did he really need the _five seconds_ it would've taken to take it off. Sure, he saved his life, but Isaac's still pissed about having to walk back home without a shirt. He'd gotten some really weird looks.

"Hi," Latisha mutters, barely speaking above a whisper. Her heart rate increases and she looks like she expects Isaac to start yelling at her.

"Where's your sister?" he asks, hoping she'll calm down once Chantille's back in the room.

"Bathroom."

Right. Isaac goes into the kitchen to get a drink, but he stops when he gets to the doorway. Stares. His kitchen is so clean it's practically shining. Isaac has never seen his kitchen so clean, even when his dad used to make him clean it after he threw plates at his head and threatened to lock him in the freezer if it wasn't good enough. Chantille must have been really bored today. He opens the fridge and grabs a drink of Hawaiian Punch. When he puts the bottle back he catches sight of the juice boxes he'd bought last night and grabs one too. Kids like juice boxes, right?

"Hey, you want one?" he asks, showing her the brightly colored package.

Latisha shakes her head slowly, and sits up, carefully moving backward so that she's leaning against the couch, not taking her eyes off him for a second.

Great. Well, that's pretty much the extent of his moves. Isaac's had a lot of experience with dealing with kids, even really annoying kids, like Marcos, who was in possession of the filthiest mouth Isaac has ever encountered, kid or adult, but he's never had to deal with one who was this afraid of him before.

He gets out his homework and sits in his dad's seat at the kitchen table so he can look out into the living room while he attempts to solve the mystery that is his Physics lab. Latisha goes back to coloring, but she looks up at him every few minutes, as if she doesn't want to lose track of him. She catches him watching her after about ten minutes and her hand tightens on her blue pencil, eyes going wide and fearful.

Isaac looks back down at his homework, inexplicably ashamed. What the fuck, he thinks angrily, he was just looking. It isn't like he did anything wrong. Where was Chantille anyway? It has to have been at least ten minutes since he'd come home.

He knows better than to try and use his werewolf hearing when someone's in the bathroom, so he heads back through the living room to climb the stairs. The upstairs bathroom door isn't closed and when Isaac reaches the top of the stairs, he turns to see Chantille on her hands and knees next to the toilet, scrubbing at the black mold at its base furiously.

"What are you doing?" he asks, bewildered.

"This house is full of some gross shit," she says, not even looking up. There's a bucket full of soapy water and a pile of rags next to her. Isaac doesn't recognize either of them or the scrub brush she's using on the toilet.

"Where did you get those?" he demands, heart in his throat. If she went in the basement, if she saw the freezer...

Chantille looks up at him strangely. "They were in the back of the pantry, why?"

"Not in the basement?" Isaac asks, his voice tight. "You didn't go in the basement?"

"No..." Chantille says slowly. "Why? What's in the basement?"

"Nothing," Isaac snaps, feeling pathetic at how relieved he is. "Don't fucking down there, understand?"

"What's in the base-"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to," Isaac says automatically, and it's weird how easily it rolls off his tongue even after all these months.

Chantille rolls her eyes and goes back to scrubbing the toilet without comment. A couple seconds pass and Isaac regrets his outburst. How the fuck was Chantille supposed to know about the basement? No one knows about the basement other than his social worker and Isaac intends to keep it that way.

"Chantille, why you cleaning the house?" he asks tightly.

"Boy, your mold has mold. And it's so dusty in here. Latisha be sneezing, for real."

Isaac is not convinced. He knows for a fact Chantille and Latisha spent the earlier part of their lives squatting with their crackhead mother in South Central. She is certainly no stranger to neglected housekeeping, and besides, she was messy enough when they lived together.

"You don't have to do that," he mutters awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Get your white ass out of here," she says shortly, not bothering to look up at him this time. "Don't you have homework or some shit?"

Isaac sighs and makes his retreat. He'd forgotten how bossy Chantille could be.

Latisha is watching him when he comes back down.

"How long Chantille been cleaning?" he asks her.

Latisha shrugs, not looking at him directly. "I dunno. Hours."

"Did she feed you?"

"Yeah," Latisha mumbles, scribbling again. "Mac and cheese."

Isaac clenches his jaw and grabs his jacket. He doesn't have to deal with this shit. He has way too much homework, is failing two classes, and has work in a couple hours. He has no patience to figure out exactly why Chantille's decided to go all Mr. Clean, like she some kept bitch.

"Yo, Chantille, I'm going to the library and then work after," he yells up the stairs, putting on his backpack. "There's frozen meatballs in the freezer and noodles in the pantry if you want 'em."

"Finally," he hears her mutter and alright, that stings a bit.

"Bitch, I can hear you!" he says before he can think better of it.

"Fuck off!" she yells and he can still hear her scrubbing, though he thinks it's the bathtub now.

Isaac lets out an irritated growl and resists slamming the door behind him when he goes.

He spends a couple hours at the library and then goes directly to work when it closes, sitting in his car eating Beacon Hills' sorry excuse for Mexican take-out in the parking lot while he waits for his shift to start. He doesn't want to go home. This is just so fucking typical, he thinks, rubbing at a stain of chipotle sauce on his Geometry homework, of course Chantille shows up and in less than a day runs him out of his own fucking house. If this is what it's going to be like while she's here then it's going to be a long couple days.

His shift is as slow as it usually is, with only a couple people coming in to buy beer or snacks, and Isaac actually finishes his Geometry. Whether any of it is even remotely correct is anyone's guess. But just when he's trying to do the incomprehensible reading for Economics, butch girl walks in. She sees him at about the same time he sees her and for an awkward couple seconds they just stare at each other.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she asks suspiciously, not even bothering to lower her voice and luckily there's no one else in the shop.

"Well, I'm behind the counter wearing a name tag," Isaac says sarcastically, glaring at her. "It's a real fucking whodunit, isn't it?"

"Excuse me?" she says angrily, stepping forward.

The hair rises on the back of Isaac's neck. It's similar to the feeling he gets around Scott. She's definitely a werewolf and that means that Stiles definitely isn't. He still doesn't know about the hot redhead, though.

"Are you going to buy something?" he asks, glad that Mr. Park decided to leave early today.

Butch girl growls and flashes her eyes at him. They're not gold like his or red like Scott's. They're blue. What the fuck is with all these different colors?

"Bitch, I have button under here that is a direct line to the police. I don't care if you are a werewolf, if you start something I _will _press it."

She gives him a furious look. "You'd better watch your back," she tells him, grabs a bag of beef jerky, and then walks out without paying.

"Hey!" Isaac yells at her furiously, vaulting over the counter, but she gets into a car that's waiting for her right outside of the door, some old white guy that's probably her dad in the front seat, and he drives off without noticing Isaac.

"Bitch!" he says aloud, hoping she can hear him.

He should totally call the police. The beef jerky was under three bucks, but it would serve her right and probably get her in trouble with her dad. And now that he thinks about it, do her parents know that she's a werewolf? Do Scott's? The Sheriff clearly knows, but that might be just because of all of the murd-and oh, fuck, he can't call the police on her. Her friend's dad is the motherfucking Sheriff.

It's only later that he realizes that his conversation with her was the first time he'd ever said the word werewolf out loud.

He doesn't particularly feel like going home after work. The full moon is coming up in a few days and Isaac is already antsy, the desire to just _run_ already thrumming through his veins. It's probably a pretty stupid idea, but he doesn't want to deal with Chantille's issues right now, so he goes to the Beacon Hills Forest Preserve and spends a couple hours wandering around the moonlit forest. It's such a nice forest, he thinks regretfully. Not too dense, with nice tall trees with thick canopies and no ponds to fall in, only a little creek. He really wishes he could spend full moons here.

He starts to get tired around two and reluctantly heads back home. Pulling into the driveway, he focuses his hearing, hoping that Chantille's not still cleaning shit, and hears...crying.

It's Chantille, who Isaac has never heard or seen cry in his life, not counting the time she laughed at him for five minutes straight after he accidentally put dish soap in the dishwasher instead of detergent and it bubbled out all over the floor of their foster home. Isaac shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He doesn't really know what to do. It seems wrong to just pretend he can't hear her, but it feels equally as wrong to try and comfort her. Like he's violating her privacy, akin to walking in on her having sex.

She sounds...pretty fucking miserable, though and after a minute Isaac gets out of the car. He shuts the front door quietly behind him and walks carefully down the hall to the downstairs bathroom, rapping his knuckles on the wooden door.

"Chantille?"

She stops sobbing and gives a panicked hiccup. "Don't come in!" she says, sounding terrified.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just leave me alone!"

Isaac lets out an annoyed grunt and leans his forehead against the door frame. "C'mon, open the door."

"Fuck off!"

Isaac tries the door. It's locked.

"Isaac, don't," she says, a sob still in her voice even as she tries to sound angry. "Just let me be!"

"Open the door or I'm going to tear the doorknob off," Isaac says firmly, allowing no room for argument in his tone.

A few seconds pass and then she gets up and unlocks the door with a click. Isaac waits until she sits back down before opening the door. Chantille is sitting with her back against the wall, between the toilet and the sink, her head buried in her knees. Isaac closes the door behind him and sits down in front of her, with his back to the sink cabinet.

She's silent for a while and now that he's here Isaac doesn't really know what to do. Should he try and get her to talk about it? Hug her? Isaac has never been good with crying people, even kids.

"I am so stupid," she sobs all of the sudden, after nearly a minute of silence. "_Isaac_, I am so fucking _stupid_."

Chantille sits back up, eyes puffy and red from crying. She unfolds her arms from her lap and Isaac sees that she's holding a small orange pill bottle.

"What're those for?" he asks.

Chantille takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes tightly. "Latisha," she whimpers.

Isaac swallows. "She sick?"

Chantille lets out another sob and then nods her head. "About six months ago, when I went to see her, she kept complaining 'bout her stomach hurting. Her foster mother wasn't doing nothing, so I took her to the free clinic and...and..." Chantille squeezes her eyes shut, shaking so badly that Isaac's afraid she might hurt herself. "He was fucking her, Isaac. He was fucking my baby sister and he gave her the clap! And I didn't...and I d-didn't even n-no-notice!" She buries her face in her knees again and sobs, but Isaac isn't focusing on that. Instead he finds himself automatically seeking out Latisha's heartbeat, slow and steady in sleep.

No wonder, he thinks, feeling ill, no wonder she was so afraid of him.

"You," he starts and then has to try again, his throat is so dry. "You tell anyone?"

"I told everyone!" Chantille cries, voice muffled by her jeans. "I told social services, I told Mr. and Mrs. Moore, I told her foster mother, but none of them be-believed me. 'Cause of the thieving and the not going to school. And 'cause when we went into the system I kept trying to get them to let us stay together. They...they thought I was just saying that so Latisha could stay with me."

Isaac reaches out slowly and grips Chantille's shoulder. She just starts shaking harder.

"You should have told me," Isaac says numbly. "I could've-"

"What? Beat him up? They'd have had your ass down in juvie so fast and nothing would've changed," she says, and then her voice goes hard. "I thought about killing him. I really did. Thought about all the ways I could do it. But it was better just to run."

Isaac stares blankly at the bathroom wall, hand still on Chantille's shoulder. Christ, she was _eight years old_. Isaac was lucky. He'd never been raped. But there were others in the group home who had, who were even easier targets than Isaac was. And they were never quite right afterward.

"But I needed money first."

Isaac goes very still, feeling like he'd been dunked in ice water. His mouth drops open, but no noise comes out of his mouth. His hand slips off her shoulder.

"I tried...I tried to get a job first, but they don't hire no one under seventeen. And so I thought...tricking, just for a couple months. Can't be too bad. I was free-lancing for a while, but then Daryl and his crew found out and they-"

Isaac feels his eyes beginning to water and wipes them away quickly, but Chantille still sees.

"Yeah," she says with a watery smile. "Yeah, they...they fucked me up good. And then I had to give them their cut, fuck who they told me to fuck, and it was just...just really..."

Isaac shuts his eyes and takes a shaky breath. "So...so, when I saw you last, right before Thanksgiving...and the time before that, you were..."

He trails off, unable to continue.

You should've told me, he thinks helplessly. I could've done something. I could've helped. You didn't have to carry this alone.

"I'm not...I don't regret it," she says firmly, wiping her eyes. "I don't, just to get her away from that...that piece of shit. I'd do it all again if I had to."

Isaac lets his head fall back against the wooden cabinet and looks up at the ceiling. For a few minutes neither of them say anything.

"Chantille," he says quietly, something tightening in his chest in realization. "Why Seattle?"

"I wanted to get out of California," she says, truthfully. "If we get picked up maybe they won't figure out who were are and send us back to LA."

"But why Seattle? What are you going to do there? How are you going-"

"Isaac," Chantille whispers, big doe eyes wide and sad, "don't ask questions you don't want the answer to."

Isaac snaps his head forward to look at her head-on. "Well, I'm asking, ain't I? So that must mean I want the answer."

Chantille looks away, at the toilet bowl instead of answering.

"Chantille-"

"It's easier there, I heard," she says softly. "Free-lancing. Less gangs. Girl on the street with me said there's lots of runaways too."

Isaac grits his teeth and shuts his eyes. When he opens them a few seconds later he focuses on the bathroom wall again.

"Stay here," he says hoarsely.

There is a pause.

"What?"

"Don't go to Seattle," Isaac says, turning to look at her, rubbing his eyes again. "Stay here."

Chantille's mouth falls open a little, face twisting up in confusion. "Isaac, I can't-"

"You can," he says, leaning forward determinedly. "You stay here, you hear? I don't...I don't want you going there."

Chantille is tiny. Moving to a new city, tricking in a new city, with her younger sister to take care of? The odds of her being dead before eighteen are too high. Beacon Hills might have crazy supernatural murders, but Isaac will take that any day over the sick motherfuckers that pick up fifteen year old girls. He can protect her here. He has to.

Chantille looks lost, an expression so foreign on her face that it makes her look near unrecognizable.

"I can't-" she whispers.

"You can," he repeats and then she's crying again.

This time he doesn't even have to think about scooting forward on the bathroom floor to pull her into his arms.

"I'm so stupid," she sobs, bringing up her hands to clutch at his shoulders.

"No, you're not," he says, bringing an arm around her waist and shifting so that her face presses into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

They end up awkwardly hunched together on his bathroom floor, Chantille crying into his shoulder while he strokes her back and tries not to cry himself.

* * *

"We're going to be living with Isaac now," Chantille explains to Latisha softly at the kitchen table the next morning over breakfast. Isaac doesn't usually eat breakfast, but Latisha's a kid, so she probably needs it, right?

Latisha glances up at him over her toast and then quickly looks away. "Okay," she mumbles, picking at a stray thread on her red polo. She's been wearing it the last three days and Isaac is pretty sure she doesn't have any other clothes. Did Chantille just pick her up after school and then run?

Isaac gets out his wallet right before he walks out the front door and shells out five twenties, handing them to Chantille. "Here, go out and buy her some new clothes today, okay?"

Chantille shakes her head. "No, Isaac, I can't, that's too much-"

"It's just gas money," Isaac lies, thrusting the money at her again. "I'll just bike around for a few days. This town ain't that big anyhow."

"Isaac, you sure this is alright? I mean, Latisha and me living here too?" Chantille says, uncharacteristically nervous. "I don't wanna be a problem for-"

"Nah, it's cool," Isaac reassures her, grabbing her hand and sticking the money in it. "I got this big house with only me living in it." A thought occurs to him and he takes out another twenty. "Here, get whatever you want to eat for the next couple days, too. Just be careful, they got some weird expensive food at the grocery, so just watch the prices."

Chantille nods seriously. "Yeah, okay, thanks," she says quietly, clutching the money tightly in her small hand.

"You remember the way downtown?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll see you a bit after three," he says, taking his house key off his key ring and handing it to her. "Just be back before then."

He opens the door and is just about to close it before he pauses, considering.

"What?"

"Just a heads up," he says slowly, turning around. "This town. It's kinda weird."

Chantille frowns. "What do you mean? Weird how?"

"_Weird_ weird," Isaac says meaningfully, hoping he won't have to spell it out. They've never had a conversation about this before.

Chantille swallows. "Like weird as in...your kind of weird?"

"Yeah," Isaac says, even though he resents being associated with the shit show that is Beacon Hills. "Just...don't let your guard down because it looks like a small town for rich people. Weird shit happens here, you feel me?"

"Okay..." Chantille replies, still looking bewildered, but that's the great thing about Chantille. She doesn't ask the questions another person would, questions she doesn't want to know the answer to, things Isaac doesn't want to explain.

"See you," he says, and then goes around the house to the garage to get his bike.


	8. Scott III

Scott gets the call at four am two days after the full moon. He dives out of bed to grab his phone, already scanning the room for his jeans. He can guess what this is about.

"Stiles?"

"Scott, there's been another murder," Stiles says breathlessly, and even though Scott was expecting it, he feels his heart sink. When is this going to stop happening? How many more people would die this time? Or, as an op ed in the Beacon Hills paper inquired, how many more would die before the FBI declared the town unsalvageable? "She was found in a dumpster outside of city hall. They haven't identified the body, but she looks young, probably late twenties."

Scott closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "In a dumpster," he repeats hollowly. "How did she die?"

"Throat slit," Stiles says, and Scott hears something in the background that sounds like the wheels of a stretcher. "I'm guessing they finished what they started at the library. Listen, Lydia and I are going to go to the hospital with the body. You and Malia should probably see if you can get a scent."

"Lydia's there?" Scott asks, holding the phone with his shoulder while he struggles to put on his jacket.

"She found the body," Stiles says shortly, and his tone of voice, plus the fact that Lydia hadn't made this call herself speaks to how well Lydia is taking it.

"Ok, I'll call you later," Scott says and hangs up, slipping his phone into his pocket. And then, without any forethought, he throws his desk chair into the wall, plaster and plastic splintering before it falls to the floor with a crash.

The light turns on in the hall.

"Scott?" his mother calls, sounding worried. "Scott, what happened?"

Scott exits his room to see his mother standing outside her bedroom in her pajamas, holding her wooden bat. He abruptly feels ashamed at his loss of control.

"Sorry," he says, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm sorry, I have to go. There's been another murder."

Her eyes widen. "Who-"

"We don't know yet," Scott says, brushing past her, because he really doesn't have time and the longer he stays the more likely she'll figure out what he did, and he doesn't want to be here for that. "I've got to go, I'll call you later, okay?"

And then he dashes down the stairs, grabs his helmet, and heads off to Malia's.

He calls her on the way to let her know what's up, but she doesn't answer right away and he has to wait five minutes before she climbs out her window to meet him.

"C'mon, we've got to go," he says impatiently, handing her the other helmet. Malia grimaces at it, but unwinds her arms from the way they're wrapped around herself and takes the helmet.

It takes them only ten minutes to get to the crime scene, but Malia practically jumps off his bike when they get there, looking physically ill.

"You okay?" he asks when she fumbles with removing the helmet.

"Fine," she snaps, finally getting it off and throwing it back to him. "Now what exactly are we supposed to be smelling for?"

The trash area behind city hall is completely cordoned off. They body's gone, but to his annoyance, Scott sees his dad's partner, Greg something, examining the scene, along with a couple other deputies, one of whom is taking scene photographs.

"I don't think we can get too close," Scott says, aware of the fact that there's only so many crime scenes he can show up at before his dad starts to think he's involved.

He closes his eyes and inhales, smelling the stench of garbage, the deputies' aftershave, the rot of a body, and the same underlying scent of a sickly smelling herb that surrounded the witches' last victim's body.

Malia seems to have realized this too. "It's the same weird smell. I don't think I can track it though."

"There's no need," Scott says, turning back to his bike. "I already know where they are."

"Wha-Where?" Malia asks blankly, trotting after him.

"The Nemeton."

The Nemeton's not exactly an easy place to get to and by the time they arrive Malia is shivering uncontrollably and vaguely greenish from the ride there. She must have pretty bad motion sickness. As they approach the Nemeton, Scott hears voices and they duck behind a large tree, peaking out to observe their source.

"-don't think it's working," a short woman with her dark hair tied up into a bun is saying. They're five of them, just like Isaac said, and they're standing around the Nemeton looking down at it as if waiting for something to happen. Scott can smell the blood in the air, a lot of it, and he knows who it belongs to.

"Margret, how many people are we going to have to kill?" an Asian man wearing a leather jacket that could have come out of Derek Hale's closet says. "Not to be a buzzkill, but eventually the police are going to crack down on this town, right?"

"As many as it takes," a woman with a gray braid responds. Her back is to Scott and Malia, but there is something about the firmness of her voice that convinces Scott she is their leader. "We just need to find the right sacrifice. We've come so far; we can't give up now."

"We're not going to do lifesblood again, though, right?" a young blonde woman asks and Scott wonders if she was the one who tried to murder that old woman at the library. "Because that's really disgusting."

"No, I don't think so," their leader replies. "I was thinking..._werewolf_."

Scott freezes as the woman turns around to look right at him and Malia.

"And, look," she continues, lips twisting in a smirk. "Speak of the devil. If only they were gift-wrapped."

Scott snarls and leaps forward to face them, fully wolfing out. Malia follows suit, her blue eyes glowing eerily in the dark.

"An alpha and a beta now," the leader says, looking more curious than concerned at their presence. "It seems this town has a full set. This one has split innocent blood, too," she says, gesturing at Malia.

"Shut up!" Malia growls, leaping forward, claws outstretched.

"Wait!" Scott shouts, but it's too late and Malia is thrown backward like she ran into an electric fence.

Scott rushes to her side, overwhelmingly relieved when she groans and coughs instead of lying still.

"I'll give you one chance," he says coldly, looking back up at the woman, "to leave this town now. Believe me when I say you won't like the alternative."

"Don't make me laugh, mutt," a short man with a comb-over says nastily, as he and his companions come forward to stand beside the gray-haired woman. "You're way out of your league here, even if you are an alpha."

"Oh, but he isn't just any alpha," the leader says, looking at Scott with her piercing blue eyes. She reminds him disturbingly of Allison's mother right before she tried to kill him.

"What do you mean?" the blonde woman asks, eyes wide.

She waves her hand out suddenly and Scott can't move a muscle. A growl starts in the back of his throat, half panic, half anger, but he can't quite get it out.

"A True Alpha," she breathes, stepping forward to look at him as if he's a particularly fascinating exhibit in a museum. Or an animal in a zoo. The smell of the sickly sweet herb hits him full in the face and Scott struggles with all his might against her spell to no avail. "And so young..."

"A True Alpha?" the Asian man says, looking at Scott incredulously. "What's that?"

"Something very rare," she replies coming closer to crouch in front of him. "I'd never thought I'd see one before."

She smiles then, reaching out to turn Scott's face to the side like she's examining him, and it's not a nice smile.

"I wonder what the blood of a True Alpha will do," she says slowly, _curiously_, and then drops her hand down to his chest. "Or perhaps the heart?"

Panic overwhelms him, but before she can say anything more, Malia lashes out with her claws, raking a bloody trail down the woman's chest. She shrieks in pain and sends Malia flying against the trunk of a tree, but the spell holding Scott immobile fades and he springs to his feet, roaring. The woman with the dark bun tries to grab him, but he punches her in the face, shoving away the short man when he tries to come at him too. The blonde woman is at the side of their leader, trying to staunch the flow of blood with her hands, and Scott has to remind himself not to feel any pity for them. They've murdered two people and don't seem to have qualms with killing any more.

"Get out of this town," Scott snarls, facing them down without fear, only anger. "This is your one chance."

"Or what?" the leader laughs, sitting up and pushing blonde woman off her. "Are you going to kill us? You, a True Alpha? I don't think that's how it works."

"I'll do what I have to," Scott says in a tone that brooks no argument, and tells himself that he will. He doesn't want to, but he _will_ kill them if he has to. If it will save innocent people, there are a lot of things Scott is going to find himself willing to do.

"I said," the woman repeats slowly, her voice going deeper all of the sudden. "_That's not how it works_."

Her skins starts glowing and Scott takes a step back in shock. Wind starts to wail around them and the witch grins, her dangling earrings and long skirt streaming out behind her as she stands, reaches out with her hands and-

An arrow buries itself in her stomach. The wind disappears, her skin fades back to normal, and she lets out another yell of pain, falling to her knees. Allison, Scott thinks, whirling around to find the source of the arrow.

It's not Allison, of course. And Scott hates himself for forgetting she's dead, even for a second.

"C'mon!" Chris yells, loading another arrow into his crossbow and Scott springs into action, running to Malia and pulling her upright by under the arms. She groans in pain, but doesn't seem to be able to walk herself and Scott pulls her out of the clearing and into the cover of the woods. He hears Chris fire another arrow and then sees a burst of _fire_ crash into the trees.

"Chris!" he yells, horrified, but then Chris stumbles into his sightline, only looking a bit singed.

"What are you doing?" he yells when he sees Scott. "Run!"

Scott makes a grab for Malia, but she's seemed to regain her balance and together the three of them run as fast as they can back to the road.

"What the hell was that?" Malia asks when they finally reach the edge of the woods.

"That's my question!" Scott snaps at her, but then turns to see Chris, leaning up against a tree, panting for breath. "Hey, are you okay?"

Chris looks terrible, and not just because his jacket is exuding fumes. It doesn't look like he's shaved in weeks, his eyes are blood-shot, and Scott can tell even in the bad light that he's lost weight. Maybe they should have been checking up on him, Scott thinks guiltily, even though he knows Chris didn't want to see any of them.

Chris waves him away, but doesn't look up at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Malia says, looking confused.

"What was that, back there?" Scott says angrily, turning away from Chris for the time being.

"I saved your life!" she shoots back, starting to get angry herself. "A little gratitude would be nice!"

"You almost got yourself killed!" Scott says, gritting his teeth, but determined not to lose his temper. "Malia, you have to stop being so reckless! This is not the first time you've-You can't just jump at anyone who pisses you off!"

"I'll jump at anyone who talks about my eyes!" Malia yells and then stops, face falling as she realizes what she just said.

She turns away then and stomps off down the road a few yards, kicking at some fallen leaves in frustration. Scott watches her for a couple seconds, all the anger draining out of him to be replaced by helplessness. While Malia hadn't particularly cared about the revelation that Peter Hale was her biological father (much to Peter's fury), she had not taken the meaning of the color of her eyes well. He wishes he could do something for her, but Malia refuses to talk to anyone about her mother and sister's deaths but Stiles, and Stiles is in no position to help anyone right now.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks Chris instead, turning away from Malia.

"I'm fine," Chris says gruffly, no longer leaning on the tree. He adjusts his crossbow over his shoulder and looks up at Scott accusingly. "Why didn't you tell me witches had come to Beacon Hills?"

Great, Scott thinks tiredly. Just what he needs right now.

* * *

Getting up the next morning for school is hell considering he only got two hours of sleep. His mother looks at him with that horrible concerned look in her eyes (she found the remains of his desk chair) and when he gets to school Malia won't look at him, Lydia is subdued, and Stiles's information about the victim (Maria Pagan, 31, married with no kids, with a brother that is a freshman at Beacon Hills High) only serves to make him feel worse, doubly so because he's pretty sure his mother knows her parents.

"She worked at city hall, so they probably grabbed her after work," Stiles says, trying a bit too hard to sound optimistic. "As far as I can tell she doesn't qualify for any of the five categories."

"We have to stop this before they kill any more people," Lydia says furiously, glaring down at their table. "This can't keep happening."

"We will," Scott says forcefully. "They have to go to the Nemeton every time, right? We can set up a trap or something."

"Scott, they nearly killed you all last night," Stiles says worriedly. "They threw _fire _at you! Even with Chris, we are so completely out of our depth here."

"Chris is looking in the bestiary for anything about witches and I'm going to go see Deaton tonight. There has to be something we can use again-"

"Scott," Malia says, speaking to him directly for the first time this morning. He looks at her and she jerks her head at something behind him. Scott turns around, looking across the school yard at the arriving students, not seeing what Malia interrupted him for until he spots Isaac Lahey sitting on the bench near the bike rack, ostensibly looking at his phone. But that's not what he's doing. Scott can tell from the stiffness in his shoulders that he's _listening_ to them.

Scott's lips thin. "C'mon, he says, turning back in his seat, and grabbing his backpack off the ground. "Let's go inside."

"What? Why?" Stiles asks, though Lydia gets up without question.

Scott shakes his head and widens his eyes meaningfully and Stiles gets up too, though it's clear he doesn't know why. Scott watches Isaac as they walk across the yard towards the doors and he doesn't give any indication that he is at all interested in them, but the second Scott turns away to open the school doors he feels Isaac's eyes on his back.

Still, he doesn't think much about Isaac Lahey for the rest of the day. But when he walks out the school doors with Stiles at three, he catches sight of something strange. There's a girl sitting on the hood of Isaac's car, swinging her feet idly over the edge. She's African American, short, and looks about their age, maybe younger, but Scott's pretty sure she doesn't go to Beacon Hills.

"And then I told him he could take his stupid _usted_ and shove it up his-Scott?" Stiles turns around when he realizes Scott has stopped and follows Scott's gaze to the girl on the car. "Is that Isaac's car?"

"Yeah," Scott says, because they'd certainly kept a close enough watch on Isaac a few weeks ago to recognize his car.

"Uh oh," Stiles says. "You think we should go warn her? Who knows what that asshole will do when he sees someone sitting on his ca-and too late, there he is."

And sure enough, Isaac is making his way across the school yard into the parking lot. Scott watches his face closely when he sees the girl, but it doesn't twist in anger like he expects. Instead Isaac merely looks annoyed.

"I think they know each other," Scott says slowly as the girl catches sight of him too and her face breaks into a grin.

"What are you doing here, Chantille?" Isaac asks as he approaches his car, scowling.

"I got bored waiting at home," she says with a shrug, sliding off the hood of the car. "Boy, you need to get a TV, because, _damn_, there is nothing to do in the middle of the day in this town."

"Where's Latisha?" Isaac asks, getting out his keys.

"Taking a nap," Chantille replies, brushing off her jean mini-skirt. "I just thought I'd come and see your school." She looks around at Beacon Hills High and whistles. "Didn't know it be this fancy though. I woulda worn my nice skirt. No metal detectors, for sure. And look at all these preppy motherfuckers. I bet they annoying as fuck, ain't they?"

"You got no idea," Isaac mutters, opening his car door. "We need to go shopping?"

"Yeah, let's get some more of them microwave dinners. And Latisha wants more goldfish."

"Shit, how many packets that girl eaten now?" Isaac complains as they get into the car and starts up the engine. "She's had enough to fill a fucking aquarium."

Chantille says something about frozen burritos as they drive off, but Scott stops listening and turns back to Stiles.

"Is she his _girlfriend_?" Stiles asks, looking horrified. "Who would voluntarily date _Isaac_?"

"Maybe," Scott says, but he's more puzzled by the fact that the girl seems to be _living_ with Isaac, along with another girl named Latisha. Were they emancipated too?

But he doesn't allow himself to put too much energy into this line of thought. He really doesn't have the time to deal with the specifics of Isaac Lahey's living situation, as long as he appears to be staying out of the Beacon Hills murderous supernatural creatures arena. The witches are the ones killing people, making Isaac irrelevant to his life right now.

**A/N: I know in the show Scott is more optimistic than this, but I wanted to explore what it really would be like living in a town where people are constantly murdered by supernatural creatures and that he feels responsible for all of them. Because that, plus Allison's death, has got to take a toll, especially when there's no end in sight. Please review and let me know what you think!**


	9. Isaac VI

"Chantille, hurry the fuck up, the pancakes are burning!" Isaac yells, poking at them helplessly with a spatula.

"You supposed to flip them," Latisha says from the kitchen table and Isaac rolls his eyes. The pancake is stuck to the bottom of the pan, while simultaneously threatening to fall apart when he tries to unstick it. It's going to be a bitch cleaning the pan, he can already tell.

"You supposed to flip them like this," Latisha says and mimes flipping the pancake midair like on TV.

"Yeah, well, I don't think it's quite there yet," Isaac says, already mourning the loss of yet another pancake. He doesn't know why Chantille insisted on pancakes when she wasn't even going to cook them. "You want more juice?"

Latisha sticks out her cup in response and he fills it with fruit punch, going back to staring dubiously at the pancake in the pan.

"Who she be talking to anyway?" Isaac mutters in annoyance, not actually caring enough to bother eavesdropping. Chantille kept her disposable cell phone and often calls a "friend" from LA, the details of their relationship remaining unclear.

Isaac finishes up the pancake batter, making several burnt on the outside, undercooked on the inside monstrosities that he and Latisha drown with shitty maple syrup to make them edible before Chantille finally comes down.

"Ugh, horrible," Chantille complains, pouring more syrup on her plate.

"Yeah, well, next time you can fucking make them," Isaac scowls, dumping the pan in the sink with the other piles of dirty dishes that he will probably eventually have to get around to cleaning.

"So," Chantille says brightly, ignoring his last comment. "It's Saturday. You don't have work until three, right? What should we do?"

Chantille and Latisha have been living with Isaac for three weeks now and Chantille has started to get stir-crazy sitting in the house all day with nothing to do but watch Latisha. She even went to the library and took out a bunch of books.

Isaac actually has a shitload of homework and is still failing two classes (just two different classes now) but Chantille drags him out to go bowling because it's either that or ice skating. Beacon Hills kind of sucks.

Isaac hasn't bowled since he was ten, but fortunately being a werewolf has some upsides, so he pretty much destroys Chantille and Latisha, who have never done it.

"Okay, you gotta try and roll it down the cente-no, don't throw it!" Isaac says, crouching next to Latisha as she holds her bowling ball in front of her determinedly. "Now, swing it back, yeah, good!"

Isaac's pretty sure all three of them hold their breaths as the bowling ball rolls slowly down the lane and knocks over seven of the pins.

Latisha lets out a shriek of joy and jumps up in the air. Chantille lets out a loud whoop and Isaac grins at the confused reactions of the other bowlers. It's the first time Latisha's gotten any pins at all, and anybody who's got a problem can just fuck off.

"Alright, my turn now," Chantille says with a grin, standing up and heading for the bowling ball dispenser.

"You actually going to hit anything this time?" Isaac says, heading back to their seat and is gratified to hear Latisha laugh in response.

"Motherfucker, I'm going to kick your pasty ass," Chantille says and flips her hair dramatically over her shoulder.

She doesn't, but as competitive as Chantille is, she isn't a sore loser about it. Isaac buys them ice cream on the way back and realizes when Chantille starts laughing at Latisha getting chocolate ice cream on her nose that he can't remember the last time he's been this happy. Probably never. His fucking social worker was right, he didn't realize how lonely he'd been until they moved in. Latisha even held his hand a couple days ago when they crossed the street. Isaac had expected her to eventually stop being so scared of him, once she realized he wasn't going to rape her, but he'd never expected anything more than that and it warms him even thinking about it.

There's still a lot to figure out, of course. If Chantille and Latisha are going to be staying here with him for another year and change, they're going to have to get Latisha in school somehow. Which is difficult because technically Chantille kidnapped her. They've talked about it a couple times, but it all comes down to the fact that they had no idea how to register her in the local elementary school without a guardian, or even any paperwork. Chantille desperately wants to get a job, partly out of a desire not to be completely dependent on him, partly because of pure boredom, but she can't do that either unless Latisha goes to school during the day.

On Isaac's day off he takes Latisha to the park to give Chantille a break. He's pretty sure that Chantille is going to take a long bath and read whatever Harry Potter book she's on now that she keeps trying to talk to him about. Latisha is excited about the park, skipping back and forth in front of Isaac on the way there, but when they get there they see there are a bunch of other kids playing on the equipment, their parents standing around watching them. Latisha stops skipping and her face falls. Isaac isn't sure if it's because she's shy or because all the other kids are white. Maybe a bit of both.

"Go on," Isaac encourages her, giving her a little shove. "Don't worry, they won't bother you none."

Latisha gives him a dubious look, but walks slowly over to the jungle gym and begins to climb. Isaac goes over to sit on the little wall that surrounds a bunch of flowers in immaculate rows (the other parents have taken up all the benches) and pulls out his Economics textbook, but he keeps an eye on Latisha as she goes down the slide and then runs back around to do it again. He might have told her that the other kids would leave her alone, but kids are _mean_ and Isaac doesn't trust them, even the sheltered Beacon Hills variety. But after about twenty minutes, Latisha ends up talking to two other boys that are maybe a year or two younger than her and ends up pushing them on the swings, chattering non-stop about sandcastles for some reason. She's talking more than Isaac's heard in the last three weeks combined.

Satisfied that Latisha is having fun, Isaac cracks his book and tries to work out some of the practice questions at the end of the chapter. He's about halfway through when he hears the sound of a familiar car parking on the side of the road, looks up, and yup, it's Stiles's blue jeep.

Fuck, he thinks, as he watches Scott, Stiles, and the hot redhead pile out and all turn to look at him, making it clear what they're here for.

And yeah, okay, it looks pretty bad. Seventeen year old werewolf hanging out at the park with a bunch of little kids. But their parents are all here too, which makes sense, considering the disaster this town is. What do they think he's going to do, in broad daylight?

Isaac turns back to his book, even as he feels them approach. He's not going to let them goad him into starting something, especially not all in public and shit.

"Isaac," Scott says coolly and Isaac looks up to see him crossing his arms over his chest, Stiles and the hot redhead flanking him. It'd probably be a lot more intimidating if they weren't all so short. And in a park full of screaming children and soccer moms.

"Bernardo, Pee-wee Herman, slutty cheerleader number one," Isaac responds, equally as cool and is gratified to see their eyes bug out in surprise. It's too bad butch girl isn't here. He had a really good one for her.

"Excuse me?" hot redhead says furiously. She looks familiar angry. Isaac's pretty sure he went to elementary school with her, but he still has no idea what her name is. "Wha-"

"You're excused," Isaac cuts her off and goes back to looking at his textbook, not that he's reading a single word.

"Yeah, you wish," Stiles says, sounding equally as angry. "Unfortunately for you we're not just going to let your werewolf ass sit next to a playground full of little kids!"

Isaac lets out a laugh and glances back up at them. "Yeah, what you think I'm going to do? Eat them?"

"You think that's _funny_?" Stiles responds, because apparently no one in this town can take a joke. "Listen, you sick-"

"What _are_ you doing here then?" Scott asks, putting his hand on Stiles shoulder and pulling him back a little.

"None of your fucking business," Isaac replies, annoyed that Scott saw through his attempt to stall by insulting Stiles.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Latisha and the two boys digging in the dirt with some sticks. He can't let them find out about her. Stiles's dad is the Sheriff and he seems like the kind of kid who tells his dad everything. They'll take her and Chantille away and he might even get charged with something for letting them stay with him.

Scott growls, quietly, and Isaac sees something dangerous in his eyes. Something that makes him reassess his assumption that Scott is the most passive and reasonable of his friends. It also makes him remember that Scott is stronger than him, even though he's still not sure how he knows that.

"I'm not going to repeat myself again," Scott says, stepping forward, and Isaac can't help but stiffen up. "What are you doing here?"

"Or you'll do what?" Isaac says, keeping his voice level, but he's sure that Scott can hear the quickening beat of his heart. "You gonna start something? Right here?"

"It doesn't have to be right here," the redhead says harshly. "It's not like we don't know where you live."

_Fuck_. She's right. If they even come _near _Chantille and Latisha...

"Then _bring it_," Isaac snarls, standing up and tossing his Economics textbook to the side, because he doesn't know what else to do. He can't back down without exposing Chantille and Latisha. And if they're going to come at him then he's sure as hell not going down without a fight.

Scott face twists in anger and for a second Isaac is afraid that he's going to hit him, right here, in front of all these peop-

"Isaac?" Latisha says from behind him and Isaac feels all the color drain out of his face as he whirl around to face her. _Shit_.

She's standing a few feet behind him, looking apprehensively at Scott and his friends. She can clearly tell something is wrong, but realizes it's too late to back away now.

"I...I got mud on my pants," she says, showing him the two muddy spots on her new jeans where her knees are. She looks seconds away from tears.

"Don't worry about it," Isaac says automatically, her anguished look only making him feel worse. "We'll wash it off when we get home. Go on and play now."

She hesitates, eyes moving from him to Scott worryingly. Isaac gives her a meaningful look, jerking his head in the direction of the playground, and Latisha darts away, running back over to the swings.

Isaac resists the urge to close his eyes and moan in despair as he turns around to face Scott and his friends again. They all look incredibly confused. Stiles even has his mouth open a bit, but to be fair, Isaac isn't actually sure if he ever closes it.

"What?" he says angrily, furious that they have to butt into every single thing in his life just because he's a werewolf. Haven't they realized yet that he has no interest in running around killing people, or whatever everyone else in this town does for fun?

"You could have just said something, you know," Scott says, still looking bemused. It makes him look like a puppy instead of a werewolf, and Isaac is disturbed by the fact that he can't see any of the dangerous side in him like this.

"Fuck off."

"You know, with an attitude like that, no wonder everyone thinks you're involved in evil ritual murders," Stiles says, rolling his eyes and Isaac would come up with a retort, but he's still stuck on "evil ritual murders," because what the fuck? Is that what's happening here?

"We don't have time for this," the redhead says agitatedly, turning away from him and speaking to Scott as if Isaac isn't there at all. "We have to go."

"Right," Scott says with a firm nod, and then turns to Isaac briefly. "Sorry."

And then they turn around and head back to Stiles's jeep, leaving Isaac the bewildered one now.

Sorry? Did Scott just apologize to him? Why would he do that?

"Who were those people?" Latisha asks hesitantly on the way back home, like she thinks she's going to get in trouble for asking.

"No one," Isaac replies distractedly. "I mean. Just stay away from them if you see them again, you feel me? They're dangerous."

Latisha looks up at him curiously. "They in a gang?"

"Something like that," Isaac says, because it's the truth after all.

"Okay," Latisha says, like it explains everything, and then starts asking him when it will get warm enough that they can go swimming.

Isaac is worried for a few days after the incident in the park, but no one comes to the door asking about Latisha or Chantille and Scott and his friends ignore him in school. Then about halfway through March there's another murder, which sends the whole town into hysterics and Isaac figures they have bigger things to worry about.

Meanwhile, he, Chantille, and Latisha have sort of got a routine going. There's still a few kinks to work out; Chantille is still bored out of her mind, Latisha has started to talk about how she misses school, and Isaac still is an utter failure at cooking, but he's confident that they'll work everything out eventually. Maybe that's why he genuinely doesn't see it coming when Chantille tries to upset the entire thing.

There's a ramp up to it, of course, which is pretty obvious in hindsight. Chantille starts calling her friend everyday, and then several times a day, looking upset and worried when she gets off the phone. Isaac listens to one of their conversation one time, but it mostly consists of Chantille telling the other girl vague things like not to give up and to do what she has to. It doesn't help that this all happens around midterms and Isaac has to spend most of his free time cramming in order to scrape by with passing grades.

So he's completely taken by surprise when he come home from school, exhausted from his final midterm, to see Chantille waiting on his front steps for him, her cell phone clutched in both hands.

"I need to ask for another favor," she says guiltily.

"No," Isaac says, when he gets it a couple seconds later. "No fucking way."

"She saved my life," Chantille says quietly, uncharacteristically understated. Chantille has always been a loud, happy, energetic presence in the brief periods they inhabited the same spaces, and it's this more than anything that makes Isaac hear her out. "When I was out on the street for the first time...She taught me what to do, what not to do, where to go, what to watch out for. I don't think I'd've made the first few months without her."

Chantille hasn't spoken about tricking since the first time in the bathroom and Isaac hasn't asked. He's a coward; he doesn't want to know more than he already does. It throws him off balance and he crosses his arms uncomfortably over his chest.

"She don't have nowhere else to go?" Isaac asks, because fuck if he's going to find himself in this situation if he doesn't have to be.

"She need to get away from the city. Her...her sister lives in Vegas and she said she could live with her, but only after she clean for a while."

"_Clean_?" Isaac repeats furiously. "She a _dope fiend_? Chantille, what the fuc-"

"She don't have nowhere else to go!" Chantille says, voice jumping an octave, with a helpless look on her face that Isaac hates her nameless friend already for being responsible for.

"So you want her to come _here_?!"

They shouldn't be having this conversation outside in the middle of the afternoon. Isaac's neighbors already hate him-he's seen the looks they give him, alright?- and he's not keen on advertising the presence of two underage girls in his house that are clearly not related to him, but neither of them want Latisha to overhear this if they can help it.

"It won't be for long, alright? Just six weeks and she'll go to her sister's!"

"Fuck no," Isaac says, point blank. "I ain't having no fucking dope fiend living in my house."

Which, of course, inevitably leads to Isaac coming home a few days later to a blonde woman with a badly covered-up black eye and horrible taste in footwear sitting at his kitchen table.

Her name is Holly, Chantille has told him, and she's young, probably no older than twenty, but Isaac can tell just by looking at her that she been an addict for years. Her bleach blonde hair is stringy and unhealthy-looking and while she's not skinny, not even close, she still has the gaunt face of someone who's lost a lot of weight in a short period of time. She has the look of someone that might have been attractive once upon a time, but that all went out the window the moment she stuck a needle in her arm.

"Isaac!" Chantille says excitedly when he comes through the door. "She's here! This is Holly."

"Hi," Isaac says shortly, putting down his things, and entering the kitchen in trepidation. He fucking hates dope fiends, not like that's a particularly unique sentiment to have. Everyone hates dope fiends, including dope fiends themselves.

Holly looks him up and down with her tired gray eyes. Her breathing is shallow and she's shaking imperceptibly. Already in withdrawal. "I have to fuck him?"

Isaac stops short and stares. In the living room, he hears Latisha's breath catch, her heartbeat speeding up.

"What?" Chantille says, looking just as shocked as he feels.

"It's no problem," Holly says with a shrug, but it's a lie. Isaac doesn't have to be a werewolf to see how abhorrent the idea is to her. "I just want to know what I'm walking into here. He's a bit prettier than my type, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, right?"

"_No_," he and Chantille say at the same time, though Chantille's is horrified while Isaac's is angry, mostly because he fucking hates being called a pretty boy. Nothing good every follows.

Holly looks surprised at his vehemence. "Relax, I was just asking. No need to get all offended."

She uncrosses her legs, her ridiculous six inch heels clacking against each other. Isaac has no idea how she got here with them. How was she able to walk more than a couple feet in them, much less walk a couple feet in this town without getting arrested? With the short skirt and the tiny jacket that doesn't even zip up over her tits, she practically has five dollar whore stamped on her forehead.

She looks over Isaac again and gets a contemplative look on her face. "You a faggot or something, is that it?"

"I _ain't_ a faggot!"

"Alright, enough," Chantille says stepping between them. "Holly, he's cool, alright? And Isaac..."

She gives him a pleading look that says, quite clearly, _please be nice_.

Ugh, fine, Isaac thinks, heading over to the fridge to get a drink. He can do nice.

"So, what made you decide to give up the whoring and the blow?" he says a few moments later, leaning against the kitchen counter and sipping his fruit punch.

"Isaac!" Chantille says, horrified.

"Hey, just making conversation," Isaac replies, smirking at Holly.

Holly doesn't look even remotely offended and shrugs. "Got sick of rolling around in the gutter sucking cock for the next high. But I expect you know all about that, don't you?" she says, mouth twisting in a malicious smile. "Pretty face like yours, I bet you spent your fair share of time bent over getting ass-fucked in that group home of yours. Only difference between us is I got paid for it."

Isaac sees red and slams his drink down on the counter so hard most of the liquid flies out and Holly practically leaps out of her chair to stand upright, fists shaking at her sides.

"Enough, both of you!" Chantille shouts, coming to step between them. "Stop it, right now!"

"Bitch, you'd best watch your mouth or I'll give you another shiner to match!" Isaac says, so angry he can barely speak, trying to step around Chantille.

"Fuck you!" Holly spits back, shaking from the withdrawal or with anger Isaac can't tell. "You think you so hard, living in this rich-ass town, house all paid for, still going to fucking high school? You're a spoiled punk and you don't know shit, so stop trying to act like something you ain't!"

"Says the whore who got herself hooked on that shit so far back I bet you can't even remember your high school's name, if you ever went at a-"

"ISAAC!" Chantille yells, voice reverberating through the kitchen loud enough that both Isaac and Holly flinch. "I said enough! Both of you!"

Isaac seals his mouth shut angrily and steps back. Holly returns to her seat, glaring at him and Isaac is more than happy to return to favor.

"Now you gonna act like fucking adults and figure out how to be cool with each other!" Chantille commands. Isaac doesn't think he's ever seen her this angry before and it should look ridiculous considering how short she is, but it mostly just annoys him how much he finds himself doing what she says.

"Fuck this shit," he says, throwing up his hands, and abandoning his drink on the counter. "You deal with her. Just make sure she stays out of my fucking way."

"No fucking problem," Holly retorts and Isaac gives her the finger on the way out, grabbing his bag and retreating to his bedroom. He has too much on his plate to deal with this bitch. She's Chantille's problem now. All Isaac has to do is let her stay in his house and hope she doesn't try to steal their groceries and sell it for dope. Not that she'd be able to find any in Beacon Hills. Not exactly any thriving corners here, which was probably the point of her coming all the way up here.

He tries to remember she probably saved Chantille's life. As long as she doesn't cause problems, Isaac will force himself live with her for a short period of time.

But Holly does cause problems. She's messy, leaves crumbs all over the kitchen and water all over the bathroom after she takes a shower, and her long blonde hair is all over the house in _days_. She's sarcastic and cold, even to Chantille, who goes out of her way to make her feel welcome. She smokes, and while she does it outside, she still stinks of tobacco even after she showers, though Isaac's not sure he'd notice it if he wasn't a werewolf. She wakes everyone up in the middle of the night with her sobbing, throwing up, and begging for dope from the withdrawal and often has to be soothed back to sleep by Chantille.

After a week, Isaac is so completely sick of her that the only reason he hasn't thrown her out is because of how pathetic she is and how desperate Chantille is to help her.

At least he's not the only one.

"What you think about Holly?" Isaac asks Latisha at 3am on the fifth night. They're in the kitchen, having retreated from the sounds of Holly throwing up her dinner while Chantille holds her hair back.

Latisha wrinkles her nose. "She a dope fiend," she says scornfully, as if that sums it up, and Isaac smirks in victory.

Still, Isaac figures that once she's out of the worst of the withdrawal, things will get better. But they don't. Instead they get worse. And while technically it isn't Holly's fault, Isaac will never forgive her for it.

**A/N: Lolololol, Isaac's life is so hard. It shouldn't amuse me so much, but I can't help it when he does it to himself. I just have way too much fun writing about him being a dick to everyone. Please review!**


	10. Scott IV

Stiles is pacing around his room furiously, picking up books and printed out pages on witches from the internet only to put them down again and resume his pacing. He's making Scott tired just looking at him, but he has too much nervous energy to stop.

"There has to be some way to fight against witches' magic," Stiles says agitatedly, running his hands through his hair. "They have to have _some _weakness."

"And what if there's not?" Lydia says from Stiles's desk chair, not looking at him, but instead at what appears to be a half-eaten apple on Stiles's desk in disgust. Stiles has never been the most tidy person, but his room really has been a disaster lately. Scott doesn't think he's cleaned it in months, and by the smell of his clothes and sheets, he also hasn't been doing laundry. "We can't just keep on looking for something that might not even be there. We have to have a backup plan."

"We need to stop them from killing people," Scott insists, flipping through one of Deaton's books without much hope. "That has to be the first priority."

Stiles whirls around to face him. "That means being able to fight them, doesn't it? Scott, you do realize what you might have to do, right?"

Scott feels the bottom drop out of his stomach, but he nods all the same. "I do. And if it comes to that, we'll deal with it at the time. But first we have to stop them from sacrificing people. There has to be some way of cutting off their access to the Nemeton."

"Well, short of standing guard, I don't think that's going to happen," Malia says, also sitting on Stiles's bed, but leaning against the wall next to his headboard and Scott can't help but notice how at home she is. "Besides, what are we going to do if they show up? They almost killed us last time."

Scott's phone buzzes and he checks the caller ID. His dad. He scowls and ignores it, as usual, irritated for the dozenth time that his mother gave him the number.

"It'd help if you could actually find out where they're staying while they're in Beacon Hills," Lydia points out.

"I told you, the scent just cuts off."

"We think they must be masking it somehow," Scott says impatiently. "Look, Deaton said that the last one worked, right? Because he was a veteran. They might not know why it's working, but there's no chance they're going to give up now. Not to mention what they plan to actually do with the Nemeton's power after they steal it."

"I'm going to give it a guess and say something _evil_," Stiles says, and then slips on some papers on his floor, barely managing to catch himself on his desk before he wipes out.

"Stiles, sit down before you hurt yourself," Malia says, rolling her eyes, and Stiles glares at her, but stops his pacing.

"What about setting a trap?" Lydia suggests, leaning forward in Stiles's desk chair a little. "I know Deaton said they'd probably be able to disable it, but what if we confronted them and then somehow drew them away-"

"You don't think that would be incredibly obvious?" Stiles asks, swinging his leg back and forth nervously. Scott doesn't think he even notices he's doing it.

"To be honest, I don't think we have another choi-"

Lydia's phone buzzes and her face falls when she picks it up. "Dammit."

"Your mom?" Scott guess, wincing a little when her nod confirms it.

"I'm guessing she didn't buy your after-school junior prom committee meeting?" Stiles asks.

"Well, it certainly doesn't look like it," Lydia says tartly, turning off her phone.

"Lydia, not that we couldn't use you here, but you know she's going to turn up here eventually," Scott says carefully, remembering the last time Lydia's mother found out she was hanging out with them.

Lydia looks hurt for a split second, but then it's gone under a smooth veneer of carelessness, so fast Scott could almost believe it was all in his imagination.

"Alright, I'm going," she says with a scowl, getting to her feet and grabbing her purse. "Just text me if you figure anything out, okay?"

Stiles goes down to let her out, leaving Scott alone with Malia on the bed. She reaches behind his bed for his shelf, grabbing his Adderall and shaking the bottle deftly. It sounds mostly full.

"Shit," she mutters, putting it back and returning to her position against the wall. "You wanna take this one or should I?"

"You did it last time, so it's my turn," Scott says wearily, hating that they have to have these conversations.

"You should probably talk about basic hygiene, too," Malia says, and to her credit she doesn't seem to think it's funny. "I think with his dad so busy he's not showering."

Scott nods shortly and then has to school his expression into something less miserable when Stiles reenters the room.

"I think Lydia's pretty upset. She keeps saying that she might move in with her dad," Stiles says worriedly, kicking a couple pages out of the way before flopping down in his desk chair.

"That's not going to end well," Malia says pessimistically. "God, I'm glad my dad's never finding out."

Scott and Stiles briefly meet eyes, before quickly looking away. They've learned that nothing good ever comes from speaking to Malia about her relationship with her father. As far as Malia is concerned, her father will go to his grave believing that his wife and other daughter died in a tragic car accident and that Malia was miraculously returned to him after eight years with no reasonable explanation. The thought of telling him the truth has never crossed her mind, not that Scott blames her. He has no idea what he'd do in her situation.

They talk a bit more about a possible strategy against the witches, but the combination of Stiles's continued inability to take care of himself and Lydia's departure and the reasons for it weigh on the conversation and after an hour they throw in the towel.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Stiles says at the door, as Scott and Malia gather their things to return home. "My dad said he thinks Isaac has a new roommate."

Scott frowns. "Another one?"

"How does he know?" Malia questions, looking between them in confusion as she pulls on her bulky coat.

"He's been having people keep an eye on the house since January. It's another woman," Stiles tells Scott. "Blonde, early twenties, kinda sick looking. They think she's been there about a week."

"So he's got a little kid, a girl about our age, and now some other woman?" Malia says, giving Scott a significant look. "You sure this isn't something we should be worrying about?"

Scott shakes his head. "Isaac isn't the problem. He hasn't done anything wrong. But..."

"But what?"

"It's good your dad is still keeping an eye on him," Scott finishes, putting on his jacket and giving Stiles a brief smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay, man?"

"Coward," Malia mutters at him angrily as Stiles shuts the door behind them.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," Scott says, giving her an annoyed look and she sighs, dropping the matter for now.

His mom is waiting for him when he gets home, and he can tell just by looking at her that his dad called her too.

"Scott," she starts, but Scott doesn't want to hear it.

"I'm not talking to him," he says shortly, heading for the stairs. "End of story."

"Scott, listen, I understand you're angry at him and you have every right to be, but he's trying to make amends. At least give him a chanc-"

"To what?" Scott says angrily, turning around despite his plans to go up to his room and crash. "Have some meaningless father-son bonding time for about five minutes until he decides to go back to Sacramento? Because I think we've got the awkward family dinners and drives to school covered, and I'm more than a little busy at the moment."

His mother's face pinches in worry. "I know, sweetheart, but you can't just ignore him. These murders have got him stressed out and he's worried about y-"

Scott almost laughs. "Worried about _me_? That's got to be a first."

His mother's mouth thins. "Scott, that's not fair."

Scott snaps. It's been a long time coming, but he just can't stand to see his mother take his _father's_ side any longer.

"_I'm_ not fair?" he says furiously, throwing his jacket down on the landing right before the stairs. "He left _us_ and yeah, he told me why, and it was the worst excuse I've ever heard in my life. Don't pretend you don't know he _wanted_ to leave. He was just looking for a way out!"

"Scott," his mother says, not giving an inch. "I know how you feel. I was angry too, for a long time, but if you feel this way, you need to tell hi-"

"No, you're not!" Scott retorts, voice rising with each word. "You've been defending him for _months_! How can you do that? How can you forgive him for leaving us, for _years_, no visits, no phone calls, not a single word! Don't you have any self-respect?!"

The second he finishes the sentence he knows he's gone too far. His mother's face freezes and goes hard in a way Scott hasn't seen since her fights with his dad all those years ago.

God.

"Scott-" she starts, with slow anger, but Scott is already halfway up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him in his haste and sinking down against it, hands shaking violently. His fingernails itch in the way they do right before they turn into claws and Scott doesn't have to look into a mirror to know that his eyes are glowing red.

Be your own anchor, his mother had said. She hadn't said what he should do if he tried and found himself lacking.

He sits there for a long time until the afternoon sunlight fades and his room is thrown into darkness, trying to think of nothing at all. Not his mother, his father, or his own loss of control. Not Allison, or Stiles, or the witches and all their victims, past and future.

He can't hide forever though, and eventually Scott forces himself to stand and make his way back downstairs.

His mother is sitting at the kitchen table, her back to the door. There's a cold cup of tea in front of her and she is very still, not turning around to look at him even though she must have heard him coming down the stairs and entering the room.

"Mom?" Scott says, not caring how childlike he sounds. "Mom, I'm...I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she says quietly, but she still doesn't turn around. "I shouldn't have pushed you about your father."

"No," Scott says, not daring to walk around to table to see her face. "No, it isn't. I was out of line."

She does turn around then and Scott feels a pain akin being stabbed in the stomach when he sees the tears in her eyes.

"Scott," she says helplessly, reaching for him and Scott goes to her, letting her wrap her arms around his neck and grips her waist tightly in return. The smell of her shampoo and laundry detergent is overpowering and nostalgia for his childhood, before he was a werewolf, before his father left, hits him like a brick.

"Oh, sweetheart," she whispers as he starts to shake, rubbing his back soothingly. "Sweetheart, everything's going to be alright, I promise."

"People keep dying," Scott sobs, trying to muffle his tears in her shoulder. "I don't know what to do. Why does this keep happening?"

"Honey, it's not your fault," his mom says gently, and while she's not lying, Scott knows it's not the truth.

"I can't protect anyone," he continues, having trouble breathing now, almost like an asthma attack. Words flow out of his mouth without his permission. He can't seem to keep it in anymore, can't pretend everything isn't falling apart. "And if I can't, what's the point?"

He'd made his peace with being a werewolf because he thought he could protect people, do something good with it that he couldn't as a regular human. But if he couldn't, it meant that everything that had happened, being bitten, all the out of control full moons, those hellish first few months being stalked and manipulated by Peter, all of that was for _nothing_. In fact, it had made everything worse. If he'd never become a werewolf, the Alpha Pack would never have come to Beacon Hills. Boyd, Erica, and Jason would all still be alive. Jennifer would never have followed, murdering nine people and kidnapping their parents. They'd never have had to sacrifice themselves to the Nemeton to get them back. The nogitsune would never have been free to possess Stiles and gain control of the oni and-

"S-St-tiles is a wreck." Scott whispers. "Malia and I have been keeping him together, but I do-don't know how much longer he's going to last. Chris just l-looks like he's wasting away and Lydia hasn't been the same since...since," he chokes and she tightens her grip around him, murmuring soothing things under her breath. "Mom," he sobs, tears running down his nose and onto her shirt, "Mom, Allison is _dead_."

"I know," she says and Scott can tell by her voice that she's crying too. "I know, honey, but it's not your fault."

"It-it _is_!" Scott insists heartbrokenly. "I couldn't...I couldn't...if I had just been there a little faster. I could've saved her, Mom. I could've...I could've-"

And then he can't talk anymore, subsumed in his grief to the point where words are impossible. The hole in his chest radiating pain and regret throughout his entire body, until all he can do is sob into his mother's arms.

They stay like that for a long time.

* * *

In the morning, Scott wakes up embarrassed and angry. What was wrong with him, sobbing all over his mother like that? Didn't she have enough to worry about without adding his mental health to the list? It had been more than four months since Allison's death. He was never going to be over it-how could he be?-but he needed to get a grip. Things were happening now, in the present, and Scott couldn't be lost in the past full of regrets and unrealized promises. He had to look forward and _act_.

It's Saturday, so Scott can stay in bed longer than he usually would, staring up at the ceiling as he works himself up to getting out of bed and facing his mother. He can hear her downstairs at the kitchen table, leafing through what sounds like paper.

Finally, when he can't dawdle any longer, Scott gets out of bed and gets dressed. His mother is sorting through what looks like bills and smiles up at him when he enters the room.

"Hey," she says lightly, getting up. "You want some breakfast?"

Scott can't remember the last time she made him breakfast, partly because she's usually so busy, and partly because his mother isn't much of a cook. Usually Scott just makes himself toast or cereal.

"No, I'm okay," he says, turning to open the kitchen cabinet where they keep the bowls.

"Scott," she says, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. "We need to talk about last night."

"No, we don't," Scott says, a little harsher than he meant to, and then forces himself to relax before turning around to face her. "I'm fine. Really."

His mother doesn't look convinced, but before she can say anything else Scott's cell phone rings and he answers it automatically. They've learned their lesson about not answering phones right away, after all.

"Sheriff?"

"Scott, you've got to come right now! I've just got a call saying that Isaac Lahey is beating the crap out of someone on his front lawn!"

Scott's mouth drops opens and then he hangs up the phone immediately, locking his eyes with his mother's guiltily.

"Sorry, I've got to go," he says and then bolts, grabbing his helmet and then speeding off on his bike.

He's so stupid, Scott thinks furiously, as he heads for Isaac's house. Everyone around him had told him that Isaac was dangerous, that he needed to be dealt with, but Scott hadn't listened, convinced that while Isaac was undoubtedly a nasty person, he meant no harm. He'd wanted to focus his energy on the witches, forgetting like an _idiot_ that this town was more than capable of having several supernatural problems at the same time.

Scott hears the fight before he sees it, but it's still a shock when he rounds the corner onto Isaac's street. Isaac is standing over a middle-aged African American man on his front lawn, knuckles bloody and chest heaving with exertion. A couple feet away from him, the front door of Isaac's house lies in pieces on the lawn as well, and Isaac's girlfriend is standing on the porch watching them, face impassive.

"Get up, motherfucker!" Isaac shouts furiously and kicks the man in the ribs. The man's face is nearly unrecognizable, beaten to a bloody pulp, and he's barely conscious, struggling weakly to get away.

Scott snarls in fury and practically crashes his bike next to Jackson's house. How dare he? There wasn't enough violence in this town and Isaac had to attack some helpless man, showing no signs of stopping even though it was clear the man could no longer walk?

Scott is crossing the street when a patrol car careens around the corner, sirens blasting. The Sheriff and Deputy Parrish are in the front and Scott smells the rubber burn when they skid to a stop in front of Isaac's house. Isaac doesn't even seem to notice and stomps on the man's outstretched hand, bones breaking under his heel.

"You like fucking little girls, huh!?" Isaac yells furiously, voice hoarse and Scott has only a second to think _What_? before he's tackling Isaac to the grass.

Isaac doesn't struggle at first, stiffens with shock actually, leading Scott to believe he really wasn't aware of his arrival, but then he lashes out with a vengeance. He throws Scott off of him, eyes turning gold, but Scott grabs him before he can get to his feet. He drags Isaac upright and practically throws him against the patrol car, pinning his arms behind his back and slamming his forehead against the hood for good measure.

"Get the fuck off me!" Isaac spits, quite literally, but he can't get any leverage and Scott's stronger than him anyway.

"Don't move," Scott says angrily, pinning him with his full weight. The Sheriff and Parrish get out of the car, the Sheriff going for his sidearm. "No, I got him," Scott tells him, even as Isaac lets out a furious yell and struggles futilely against the car. He's just about to ask for handcuffs when Stiles's jeep skids around the corner as well, Stiles leaping out of it without even removing the keys from the ignition.

"Jesus Christ," he says, looking between the bleeding man and Scott pinning Isaac to his father's car.

"Sheriff, we'd better call an ambulance," Parrish says, striding over to squat down next to the half-conscious man.

"You'll need a hearse by the time I'm done with him!" Isaac shouts, still trying to get free and Scott slams his head against the hood again so hard it leaves a dent. Isaac slumps against the car and moans in pain, dazed, but Scott doesn't release his hold on him. He isn't taking any chances.

He winces and looks up at Stiles's father apologetically. "Sorry."

"No problem, son," the Sheriff says, looking down at Isaac with cold satisfaction. He handcuffs him and Scott throws him in the backseat, going in after him to make sure he doesn't break the handcuffs and try to escape. It's only when the Sheriff closes the door behind him does Scott look out the window to see that Isaac's girlfriend has disappeared.

"Hey, where's the girl?" he says, to no one specifically, but Isaac lets out an angry growling noise and Scott shoves his face against the window, grabbing his wrists to make sure he doesn't break the cuffs. Now that he has a better look, Scott wrinkles his nose in disgust when he sees that Isaac's hands are _dripping _with blood. It's not just on his knuckles, it's _everywhere_.

"Parrish, you stay and wait for the ambulance, I'd better get these two to the station," the Sheriff says. He looks annoyed when Stiles joins him in the front seat, but decides to pick his battles and then they're off.

Isaac makes two separate bids for freedom on the way, but Scott wrestles him into submission both times, heedless of Isaac's increasingly virulent profanity and ad hominem attacks. By the time they get to the station he seems to have resigned himself to being arrested and allows the Sheriff to grip his arm and take him back through the station.

"Ted, I'm going to need the keys for the interrogation room," he says as they rest of the deputies stare at them.

"Interrogation room?" Stiles repeats disbelievingly, but doesn't continue after his father shoots him an annoyed look.

The deputy in question looks between the four of them hesitantly, but hands the Sheriff the keys.

"You're not coming in," the Sheriff says when they get there, though. "There's a procedure here and don't think my deputies won't notice something is up if I let the two of you in here with me. It's bad enough you came in the same car."

"I don't think that's-" Scott starts, but Stiles's panic overrides his objection completely.

"Dad, no," Stiles protests, eyes wide and scared. "On what planet do you think being alone in the same room as him is a good idea?"

"_He_ is right here," Isaac says, still a vein of anger in his voice.

"Shut up!" all three of them say at the same time.

"No arguing," the Sheriff says and before Scott can try and talk some sense into him, he shoves Isaac inside and closes the metal door behind him.

Stiles stands staring open-mouthed at the closed door, his heartbeat racing.

"Stiles, c'mon, let's go to the two-way glass," Scott says and strides quickly next door before Stiles goes into a panic about his father being in danger.

The room is open (and dusty, Scott doubts Beacon Hills has had much need for it, well, _ever_) and Scott and Stiles sit down just in time to see the Sheriff handcuffing Isaac's right hand to the table.

"Really?" Isaac says coldly, yanking his bloody hand hard enough that the entire table shakes.

"You break that, you'll only end up hurting yourself in the long-run," the Sheriff tells him, sitting down across from him, with a casual air that Scott finds himself puzzled at. "Now let's talk about that man you assaulted? Who is he?"

"None of your fucking business."

"Considering you beat him into a bloody pulp and I am the Sheriff of this county, you'll find it is very much my business," the Sheriff responds, voice going a bit hard. He leans forward, forearms flat on the table. To Scott's surprise, Isaac shifts uncomfortably backward.

"Fuck you!" he says angrily, yanking at the handcuffs. "I ain't telling you shit, so throw my ass in the cells already."

"We're not finished here," the Sheriff tells him flatly. "I got all the time in the world and you're not going anywhere anytime soon."

"Fuck. You."

"This is pointless," Stiles says anxiously, getting to his feet. "He's not going to say anything. Why are we wasting our time with this asshole?"

"Motherfucker, I can hear you!" Isaac shouts, turning to glare at them through the wall.

The Sheriff gives them a glare that clearly says _be quiet and let me handle this _and turns back to Isaac.

"I couldn't help overhearing your very serious accusation." When Isaac looks blankly at him, he elaborates. "You accused him of being a child molester. It that why you attacked him?"

"What?" Stiles says, giving Scott a bemused look. "He did?"

Scott nods.

"Why the fuck you care?" Isaac sneers, but Scott can hear his pulse increase just from the Sheriff's reference to it.

The Sheriff opens his mouth to respond, but then his cell phone buzzes. He checks it while Scott and Stiles wait nervously, aware that with the Sheriff distracted, Isaac could easily break the handcuffs and lunge across the table without anything they could do to stop him. Scott doesn't think he will, but he can admit he does not have a very good track record predicting what Isaac will or will not do.

"So, his name's Benjamin Williams," the Sheriff says, putting his phone down and Isaac stiffens. "He's in ICU right now with eight broken ribs, a broken collar bone, nose, jaw, left wrist, a couple fingers, a compound fracture in his right arm, and internal bleeding."

"Oh, my God," Stiles mutters and Scott feels slightly ill. For Isaac to do all that, to go that far...

"Good," Isaac snarls and he's not lying, but...something in his face and tone conveys his discomfort with the extent of the man's injuries being laid out like that.

"You must have really hated him," the Sheriff says and Scott can tell he's angry, furious even, but he's holding himself back. "You called him a child molester. That's why you assaulted him?"

Isaac rolls his eyes and doesn't answer, slumping back in his chair.

"The direct quote was "You like fucking little girls, huh?" I believe," Stiles's dad says coolly and Scott stares because he'd never thought he'd ever hear him talk like that, even though it's just repeating something Isaac already said. "Did he molest that little girl that's living with you?"

Isaac goes rigid, face going blank like he's putting on a mask.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says carefully, after a beat.

"We're not stupid," the Sheriff says impatiently, leaning forward again. "We know you've had those two girls living with you for more than a month now. You just moved here from LA, Benjamin Williams is from LA, and I'm willing to bet those two girls are too. We both know you could have killed Williams easily, but instead you, unless I'm very much mistaken, threw him through your front door and beat him up on your front lawn where everyone could see. Which leads me to believe you wanted him out of your house, away from that little girl, more than you cared about getting arrested. And that blood all over your hands? Punching him like you were wouldn't get that much blood on them. Most of it's yours, isn't it? You were digging your claws into your palms instead of using them."

Isaac tries to jerk his hand off the table and the handcuffs strain before he relents.

"So?" he says, glaring at the Sheriff uncomfortably. "Why do you care? It ain't your jurisdiction."

"I take accusations of child abuse very seriously," the Sheriff says, leaning back in his seat, eyeing Isaac closely. "As do you, I imagine."

Isaac stiffens. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, after what your father did to you, I expect you're more sensitive to the abuse of children than most," Stiles's dad says and Scott is shocked by the cruelty in his face. He's never seen him like this before and by Stiles's intake of breath beside him, he hasn't either.

Isaac goes as white as his shirt. "That is _not_ the same thing," he hisses.

"It wasn't sexual, sure," the Sheriff continues blithely. "But considering your father barely avoided going away for life on a torture charge-"

"Don't you _dare-_" Isaac's eyes flash gold and Scott leaps to his feet, hoping he can get there quick enough, before he-

"Then tell me the truth!" the Sheriff shouts, standing up so quickly his chair shoots back several inches behind him. Scott and Stiles jump at the sudden change in demeanor and Isaac nearly falls out of his chair. "What did Benjamin Williams do? Child molestation is a very serious charge! How do you justify that accusation?!"

"How the fuck else does an eight year old get the clap?!" Isaac shouts back and jerks his arm so hard the handcuffs snap off the table. Scott tenses, ready to run into the other room to restrain him if need be, but Isaac doesn't make any threatening moves towards Stiles's dad and doesn't even move from his seat.

"He gave her gonorrhea?"

"Like six fucking months ago. He was her foster father and Chantille _told_ social services, but of course they didn't give a shit, so, yeah, now they live with me!" Isaac yells, face red and blotchy with anger.

"He's telling the truth," Scott says softly, feeling sick at the realization. That little girl he'd seen Isaac watching at the park...she was so tiny, how could someone-

"Shit," Stiles says and sits down again. "God, what a mess."

"But you don't have any proof it was him?" the Sheriff presses.

"No," Isaac says bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. "If there was Chantille would have used it to get her out of there." The anger seems to fade and he gives Stiles's dad an annoyed look. "Why do you care about any of this anyway?" he asks suspiciously.

The Sheriff doesn't answer, but looks at Isaac carefully for a minute. Isaac hunches a little, clearly uncomfortable with his stare and the Sheriff sighs, rolling eyes to the sky in exasperation.

"I am so getting fired for this," the Sheriff says to the ceiling and then before Scott can figure out what he means by that, he pulls out his keys and reaches over for Isaac's hands.

Isaac jerks back like a spooked horse. "What are you doing?"

"Uncuffing you," the Sheriff says and then walks around the table to uncuff the broken cuff on his right hand.

"What?" Isaac and Stiles say at the same time. "Why?"

"I'm letting you go," the Sheriff says sternly, "on the caveat that you stay out of trouble. Also, that little girl needs to be going to school, so you'd better come by here when things cool down so I can get her registered."

"What?" Isaac says, looking almost comically bewildered, rubbing his wrist. "You can't do that! I beat the _shit_ out of that guy. You can't just let me go!"

"Do you want to be locked up?" the Sheriff says with raised eyebrows.

"No," Isaac says quickly, but he's still looking at the Sheriff like he thinks it's a trap.

"Good," the Sheriff says with a curt nod and turns to unlock the interrogation room door. He turns around when Isaac still hasn't moved, holding the door open. "You coming?"

Isaac scowls and gets up, shoulders hunched and looking far more dissatisfied than he was coming into the station.

"Did he just do that?" Stiles says, staring blankly at the empty room. "Did he _really_ just do that?"

"Uh, yeah..." Scott says, heading for the hallway. He's not sure what he thinks about the Sheriff's decision. On one hand, he completely understands Isaac's anger at Williams, but on the other, the level of violence it took to cause the man's injuries is not to be ignored. Isaac is still dangerous.

"What kind of cop _are you_?" Isaac is saying suspiciously when they exit the room.

"One who is growing increasingly more corrupt by the week," the Sheriff sighs as they walk back to the front.

Isaac glares at Scott and Stiles furiously all the way, but doesn't speak. He looks incredibly uncomfortable at the stares of the other deputies and sticks his hands into his pockets, slouching. When they get to the front desk the Sheriff stops and give him a tough look.

"Now you remember to come back for that little girl, you hear? And if I even catch you near that hospital room, I _will_ charge you."

Isaac scowls, but nods shortly, and mumbles something that Scott is shocked to her a "sir" at the end of.

"Just stop being so shady in general," Stiles advises him, because it is literally impossible for him to keep his mouth shut. "Seriously, dude, this is like, what? The third time you've been arrested since you've moved here?"

"Go fuck yourself," Isaac responds predictably, glaring at both of them, making sure Scott knows he means him too. "And stay out of my fucking way."

"Alright, that's enough," the Sheriff snaps. "Now go on before I change my mind," and Isaac's eyes widen, appearing to take him at his word.

But before he can get out the door, it opens and the last person Scott wants to see walks through. Scott's dad stops and stares at Isaac, his bloody hands and white shirt sprinkled with small flecks of blood that probably came from _punching Williams so hard his blood sprayed onto his shirt_.

"The fuck are you looking at?" Isaac asks nastily and pushes past him before he can say a word.

"What?" Scott's dad says, bewildered, looking at Isaac's retreating back through the glass door and then back to the Sheriff.

"Don't ask," the Sheriff advises him and smiles, _ugh_, because _everyone _is apparently on his dad's side now. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I was just- Scott, what are you doing here?"

"Just leaving, Mr. McCall," Stiles says, grabbing Scott's arm and dragging him towards the door. "We've got homework and a lacrosse game tonight, you know, so..."

"Scott, wait-"

But they're off out the door before he can stop them.

* * *

"Why did you tell him we had a game tonight?" Scott complains, perhaps a bit unfairly, later that night as they put on their gear in the locker room.

"I didn't know he was going to come!" Stiles protests, which, okay, is probably true. "Oh, also, I got a text from my dad. The hospital called; Williams is going to pull through. Probably will make a full recovery, unfortunately."

Scott gives him a look.

"What?" Stiles protests, flailing a bit as he tries to pull on his lacrosse jersey and talk at the same time. "Look, Isaac's a dick and I hate his guts with the passion of a thousand fiery suns, but you can't say that that bastard didn't deserve it."

He probably had, but it didn't make Scott any less comfortable that Isaac had seen fit to nearly kill him on his front lawn. He should go to jail, not that that was likely to happen as Isaac said there was no proof. What if he had other foster kids? Beating him up hadn't solved anything. It wouldn't get that little girl her innocence back. All it had done was make Isaac feel better, though by the look on his girlfriend's face as she watched him do it, it had probably made her feel better too.

"Also, no wonder he's such a screw-up, what with his dad apparently _torturing him_ and all. He's bound to be a bit psychotic after that."

"Stiles!" Scott says horrified, dropping his helmet. "That's not funny!"

Stiles winces. "Yeah, probably not," he agrees and at least has the decency to look ashamed. "It explains why my dad wouldn't let me see his file, though."

"Won't your dad get in trouble for just letting him go like that, though?" Scott asks worriedly, remembering the Sheriff's impeachment trial a couple months ago. "I mean, he'll definitely press charges, right?"

"No, he won't," Stiles says dismissively.

"Why not?"

"He _won't_ press charges," Stiles says, giving him a meaningful look and Scott sighs and hopes Stiles's dad knows what he's doing.

"Five minutes!" Coach shouts and Scott closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. It's the championship game. A year ago he was trying to stop Gerard from forcing Jackson to murder people. Stiles was playing for the first time. Lydia had just brought Peter back to life. Malia was still a coyote. Derek's betas were all still alive, fleeing from him into the hands of the Alpha Pack. And Allison was...alive. Her mother had just died and Gerard was manipulating her into doing horrible things, but. She was still alive.

"Scott," Stiles says and Scott opens his eyes to see him looking at him worriedly. "You ready for this, Captain?"

"Yeah," Scott says with a nostalgic grin and grabs his helmet. "Yeah, I am."

**A/N: Jason is the name of Derek's third beta in this AU, because of reasons. I have no idea who he was or why he said yes to Derek, but I don't think anyone else cares either, so it's okay. Don't hesitate to review!**


	11. Isaac VII

"Don't laugh," Chantille warns from inside the bathroom and Isaac rolls his eyes, tapping his foot impatiently.

"I'm not going to laugh," he says, looking at the time on his cell phone. "But you'd better hurry up, Latisha's going to be late."

"Chantille, come out!" Latisha says, skipping around in a circle.

Chantille opens the bathroom door slowly and steps out, looking dubious, the ash gray shirt with red highlights and black slacks of the Burger King uniform crisp and fresh-looking.

"Put on the hat," Latisha says decisively, after looking her up and down and Chantille sighs, affixing the gray visor on her head.

"Happy now?" she asks grumpily.

"Looks great," Isaac says impatiently. "Can we go now? Latisha, you got all your stuff?"

"Yup," Latisha says with a nervous grin, holding her up new bright pink backpack, which looks like someone had vomited flowers onto it.

Despite his fury and resentment of being dragged down to the police station for a second time, Isaac and Chantille did eventually decide to meet with the Sheriff to get Latisha into school. He was pretty annoying and nosy about their living situation, but he did get Latisha registered at Isaac's old elementary school no questions asked. He was okay, the Sheriff, Isaac guessed. He'd just been doing his job, at any rate. He can't say the same for his annoying son and Scott. Isaac won't be forgetting their interference in his life any time soon, especially Scott practically bending him over the police car and pinning him there. Even thinking about it makes his skin crawl.

With Latisha soon to be starting school, Chantille had starting applying to any place hiring in the area. It took her a bit longer to get hired than Isaac, probably because despite her fake ID, it was very hard to believe she was eighteen. She'd ended up getting hired at the Burger King in the downtown area and her first day happens to coincide with Latisha's.

Before he can get them out of the house, he hears footsteps upstairs and barely manages to suppress his groan when Holly comes sleepily down the stairs, in nothing but a bra and her skirt, her hair a disaster.

"Wha's going on?" she mutters, turning the corner into the hallway next to the downstairs bathroom, rubbing her eyes. "It's seven in the fucking morning."

"Put on some clothes, ain't nobody want to see your saggy tits," Isaac says in annoyance.

Holly ignores him and looks Chantille up and down, her face breaking into a grin. "Hey, girl, looking good. Give us a twirl."

Chantille rolls her eyes, but complies with a small smile.

"Uh oh, you best be careful or no one at that joint will get any work done. They'll all be staring at your ass the whole day."

Isaac doesn't know how that's supposed to be a compliment but Chantille grins like Holly just told her she was the most beautiful girl in the whole world.

"And look at you," Holly continues, coming forward to squat in front of Latisha, giving one of her poofy pigtail a tweak. "I like your shirt. Princess Jasmine was always my favorite too."

Latisha looks down shyly at her shirt, swinging from side to side in her new school clothes; pink Disney t-shirt, jean skirt with leggings, and purple and black tennis shoes. It's the first time she hasn't had to wear a uniform to school and she and Chantille had spent nearly an hour last night trying to pick out the perfect outfit.

"Can we go now?" Isaac says, resisting the urge to lash out at Holly. Isaac is still furious at her for telling a friend back in LA that she had came to Beacon Hills to live with Chantille, even though there was no way she could have known it would get back to Latisha's foster father. Not to mention when the son of a bitch had shown up the first thing Holly had done when Isaac kicked him through the door was run upstairs to get the .22 that she hadn't told anybody about before Chantille made her take Latisha to a motel it was all over. Chantille doesn't seem to blame her at all for the disaster, so Isaac has selflessly taken it upon himself to blame her enough for the both of them.

"Alright, alright," Chantille says, heading toward the door. "Let's go, 'Tisha. Don't want to be late on your first day."

"Good luck," Holly says sleepily from the front door as Chantille and Latisha get into the car.

"Try not to burn the house down," Isaac tells her as he gets into the front seat. "And put some fucking clothes on before the neighbors see."

"Yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself," Holly says, waving a hand at him idly. She's not even remotely threatened by him anymore. It is extremely annoying.

Latisha shifts nervously in her seat on the way there and doesn't say a word as they pull into the parking lot of Isaac's elementary school and walk down the colorful hallways to the principal's office. Everything seems a lot smaller since Isaac was last here, probably because he grew about two feet since he was in elementary school. He doesn't recognize the principal, but when she takes them down to the first grade classroom (Latisha was placed a grade behind because LA schools suck, and even then she'll have to have extra help to catch up) he does recognize Latisha's new teacher. He wasn't in her class, but he'd seen her around. She doesn't recognize him, but she seems nice enough when she smiles at Latisha and invites her in.

"Okay, Latisha, this is Miss Finnegan," Chantille says encouragingly, while Latisha fidgets uncomfortably before looking her new teacher shyly in the eye. "She's going to show you where to put your stuff and where to get your free lunch." Latisha's teacher looks up at the principal quizzically and the principals nods shortly. Isaac suppresses his eyeroll. He's pretty sure they started the free lunch program here just for Latisha. They certainly had at Beacon Hills High for him.

"It's Ms. Finnegan, actually," the teacher says and reaches out to take Latisha's backpack. "It's great to meet you."

Latisha shifts awkwardly from one foot to the next. Chantille nudges her with her elbow. "What do you say?"

"It's nice to meet you," Latisha mumbles.

"Don't worry once she get going, she don't stop talking for nothing," Chantille says to the teacher with a grin.

The principal says something about the material they'll be covering, but Isaac is more interested in looking around the classroom. There's a shiny whiteboard in front and color posters of words and equations on the walls, along with what looks like kids' painting. There are about twenty kids, sitting in desks, most of them craning their necks to look at Latisha. Mostly white, but Isaac sees one black boy and a Chinese girl among them.

"But Isaac and I have to go now, okay?" Chantille says, giving Latisha a hug. "You be good now, okay? And Isaac will pick you up at 3:15, so you just wait with the teacher until he come."

Latisha nods solemnly and they watch as the teacher shows her to her seat before the principal ushers them out of the room.

"You think she'll be okay?" Chantille asks worriedly as they get back into the car, throwing an anxious glance at the school out the window. "She'll be okay. It's Beacon Hills."

"She'll be fine," Isaac says, with more confidence than he feels and starts the car, heading back home to drop Chantille off. He'll be late, but he can deal with detention if he has to. "Your shift starts at eleven, right?"

"Yeah," she says, sounding distant.

She doesn't speak again until they're almost back at the house.

"Hey, Isaac?"

"Hm?"

"What the fuck does "Mz" mean? She divorced or something?"

"Fuck if I know."

He does end up being late, but since it's the first time ever his history teacher lets him off the hook. Also, he's not the only one. It's ridiculous, it's been two weeks since Beacon Hills High won the lacrosse championship and they're _still_ celebrating. Which means, as far as Isaac can tell, that the lacrosse team (which Scott is apparently the captain of, the _cheater_) basically gets to do whatever they want for a while, including skipping class.

Isaac hates them all, but especially Scott. Thankfully Scott and his friends have gone back to ignoring Isaac again, preferring to sit out in the warm April weather and talk loudly about witches (do they think that no one can hear them?) instead of following Isaac around.

Alright, so maybe he's eavesdropping on them. It makes sense, right? The witches tried to kill him and seem to be killing random people in Beacon Hills. He has a vested interest in them not trying to kill him again, or going after Chantille or Latisha. Holly he's on the fence about.

But he doesn't go overboard with it. If the witches really cared so much about him, they would have come back to finish the job back in January. He's not some rich spoiled kid who wants to play superhero instead of getting a job, or whatever Scott's motivation is for acting like some sort of werewolf cop. He doesn't want to be involved in some life-or-death game that he doesn't have to be when he's barely managing to scrape by as it is.

Or, well, he tries not to get involved. But like most things in his life, it doesn't work out too well.

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but the next one will be longer again. Please review!**


	12. Allison

Allison runs. She doesn't know where she is, there are trees and dirt, but it's dark and she can't make sense of anything. All she knows is she has to get away from the gray-haired woman, with her wicked smile, and the way she'd grabbed Allison's arm, sharp nails digging into her flesh. Are they still following her? She'd heard them yelling when she'd fled, nearly running into the big stump in the middle of the clearing in her attempt to escape, but she can't hear them anymore.

She's not wearing any clothes, which is less distressing than the fact that she doesn't have any shoes either. She doesn't know how long she's been running, but her feet are already on fire. The rest of her body stings from being buffeted by small branches that she's running too fast to avoid. Her lungs start to burn, so Allison stops breathing and is shocked at the instant relief it brings. She doesn't seem to need to start again so she doesn't.

The sound of a owl hooting startles her, and causes her to grind to a halt, immediately ducking behind the trunk of a tree, ears straining for the sound of voices, footsteps, anything. It's only then that she realizes that something's wrong. Everything is too still. Allison brings her hand up to her chest. Her heart isn't beating.

Allison's mouth drops open slightly and a strangled noise works itself out of her throat without her permission. She hits her chest with the heel of her hand, but nothing happens. She slumps a little against the tree and then winces as the rough bark makes contact with her bare skin. She's still not breathing.

She...died, didn't she? Allison can remember the sharp pain in her chest, feeling everything fade away. She died and then there was nothing. So why is she here?

Allison brings up her hands to look at them carefully. The moonlight makes them nearly glow in the dark, she's so pale. Allison looks up at the moon between the trees and frowns. It's round, but not completely full yet, and that's important. She's not sure why.

She looks down at her bare feet that are covered in mud and frowns at the smell. And mud? It's too cold for mud, isn't it? It should be, anyway. It's supposed to be autumn, almost winter. But it isn't, Allison realizes, breathing in the scent of the forest, and the undeniable scent of spring.

It's still cold, though. Allison wraps her arms around her still body and shivers. She wishes her hair was longer so it would cover her more.

She's not supposed to be here, but she's not sure where else she should go. Allison takes a step in the same direction she'd been running in and closes her eyes against the pain, but doesn't stop. The forest has to end somewhere, right?

She walks and walks and walks until the horrible feeling in her gut gets worse and all Allison can think is_ I'm supposed to be dead, I'm supposed to be dead, I'm supposed to be dead_ until she can't stand it anymore and starts to run again because she doesn't know what else to do, and she's supposed to be dead, and she doesn't know where she is, and the people who brought her back are chasing her, and she doesn't know what they want, but it can't be goo-

She crashes into a bush and then falls, scrapping her knee badly, but pushes herself off the ground, fear coursing through her, threatening to paralyze her if she doesn't just get away, get out, run, run, run, run, run-

Allison rounds a large hill and skids to a stop, eyes widening at the sight of another person just on the other side of the hill.

"Shit!" the boy says, jumping back in shock, his eyes flashing gold.

He's a werewolf, Allison knows, and she tries to reach back for an arrow, but there's nothing there.

The gold disappears almost immediately though, and for a second they just stare at each other, Allison's muscles tense with anticipation of a fight.

"Are you _high_?" the boy demands, looking off to the side instead of directly at her. Allison can't see so well in the dark, even with the moonlight, but he looks about her age. He's tall, with curly dirty blond hair, wearing baggy jeans and what appears to be a men's white undershirt.

He doesn't seem like a threat, so Allison's not sure what to do. Should she leave?

"Hey!" the boy says when she doesn't answer, snapping his fingers in her direction, looking at her, but only in the face. "Do you even know what you took? Where are your clothes?"

Allison looks down at her naked body. Where _are_ her clothes? She was wearing them when she died, she knows that.

The boy groans. "You have got to be fucking kidding me. You fucking rich kids. Popping pills is better than the needle, but it'll still fuck you up, for sure."

Allison frowns at him uncomprehendingly. Why does he think she's high?

"W-Where am I?" she asks, her voice high and childlike.

The boy gives her an unimpressed look. "Beacon Hills Forest Preserve."

It takes her a few seconds to remember that Beacon Hills is the name of the town she lived in. The last one. Allison moved around a lot as a child.

"What's the date?" she asks next and has to bite back a sob. How long has she been dead? It feels like a long time.

"April 5th," the boy replies and the exasperated look falls off his face and he takes a step forward. "Hey, are you okay?"

Allison takes a step back automatically and brings up shaking hands to grip her hair. It's full of dirt.

"What...what year?" she gasps out, even though she doesn't need to breathe anymore. Oh, God, this can't be happening to her. This is a dream.

"2012," the boy says slowly. "Okay, I think you need to go to the hospital."

Allison squeezes her eyes shut and shakes, clenching her fists at her sides. April 5th, 2012. She's been dead for more than four and a half months.

"Hey, are you okay?" She hears him coming closer, but she doesn't care. It's all she can do not to scream. "Did someone hurt you?"

An oni stabbed her in the chest and she'd bled out in Scott's arms.

Scott. Oh God.

"Okay," the boy says and he sounds very close. "I think you need to go to the hospital. My car's just aroun-"

He stops, very suddenly and Allison opens her eyes to see him staring at her chest. She looks down and wonders what he's staring at-her breasts?-until she remembers. Werewolf.

"You-" he says, looking shocked up at her face and then down again.

"I'm-I'm not supposed to be here," Allison whispers, hunching a bit and wrapping her arms around herself.

"You need to go to the hospital, _now_," the werewolf says seriously, reaching out to grab her arm and Allison takes another shaky step back, nearly tripping over a tree root.

"I can't...I can't go to the hospital," she says, trying not to cry. What is she? Whatever it is, it can't be human. She's not a person anymore. She's a thing. "You're a werewolf, right? You can hear it. It's not beating. I can't, I can't go to the hospital!"

The werewolf doesn't say anything and when Allison's collected herself so that she's sure she won't burst into tears, she looks up to see him staring at her with wide eyes. She thinks they're blue.

"How did you-" he starts and visibly reconsiders. "No. Alright. No hospital. You want me to take you home?"

"Oh God," Allison says and turns away from him, shaking. That's even worse. Her dad! Is he even alive? She hadn't had time to tell Scott about the silver arrowhead. And if he is, what must it have been like for him, her death. She'd been his only family left and after Kate, and Gerard, and her mom...

She can't see him like this. She's not even alive anymore. She doesn't breathe, her heart doesn't beat. Her existence is not sustainable. She might not have much time left and she can't make him mourn her twice.

"No, I can't, I can't," she babbles, gripping her hair so hard she wonders if it will fall out, like a corpse. "He can't see me like this. I can't go back there."

"Okay..." the werewolf says, sounding confused. "Where do you want to go?"

Allison tries to think through the panic. She can't go to any of her friends' houses for the same reason she can't go to her father's. The mere thought of it is terrifying. A hotel then? But she doesn't have any money. Or any clothes. If anyone sees her like this they'll call the police and then they'll be no escaping exposure. And she can't stay in these woods. Not with those people after her.

"I don't...I have to go somewhere else. There was this woman. I think, I think she brought me back, but I ran and now I don't..."

"Brought you back?" the werewolf repeats, looking confused. "From where?"

"I was dead," Allison says, annoyed that he doesn't understand. "I was dead and now I'm not and I think she brought me back. But I'm...I'm wrong, and now they're after me, so I don't..."

I don't know what to do, she thinks, but she doesn't want to tell the werewolf that. She just wants to curl into a ball and cry, but she can't do that.

"She brought you back to life," the werewolf says slowly. "Of course she did. I fucking hate this town."

Allison wipes away the moisture that's collected at the edges of her eyes, but she's pretty sure it only serves to smear mud on her face.

"You can't think of anywhere to go?" he asks and Allison shakes her head. She wishes he would just leave. He can't help her. No one can help her right now.

There is a long pause while Allison tries to stop shaking and remain calm. Breathe, she thinks, in her mother's voice, and then nearly starts sobbing when she realizes that breathing is just irritating like this. What is she going to do?

"Oh, fuck it," the werewolf says with a groan. "You want to sleep on my couch?"

Allison jerks her head around to stare at him. He doesn't particularly look happy about the idea, but she doesn't know him. He's a _werewolf_.

"No, I can't," she says weakly. "What, what about your parents? Do they know about...?"

"Nah, both mine are dead," he says with a casual shrug. "I have three roommates. Girls. They don't know shit, though, and it's going to stay that way. "

"Why would you do that?" she asks, not sure if she's suspicious or just confused.

He shrugs. "I'm pretty much running a fucking charity at this point anyway," he says with an eye roll. "And where else you gonna go? It ain't safe to wander around naked in the woods, especially in this town."

Allison is stupid to even be considering this. But she doesn't know what else to do. She doesn't have any other options, so she nods shakily, wrapping her arms tighter around herself.

"Right, this way," he says awkwardly, jerking his head to the left and walks a couple steps ahead of her and Allison follows warily, her feet stinging. They walk in silence for several minutes while Allison tries to focus on the pain in her feet, and not on anything else. But after a while the panic rises again in her chest and she has to let it our or she's afraid she will explode.

"Do you know Scott?" she asks his back, the trees thinning around them. She hopes they are close to the road now. "Scott McCall?"

The boy stops in his tracks and then turns back to look at her suspiciously, even though she's the one who's stark naked here. "Yes..." he says carefully. "Why?"

"He's...he's alive?" she whispers, afraid if she speaks any louder that it will somehow jinx it.

"Yeah," he says, looking confused. "I mean, he was at school today, so..."

"What about Lydia?" He gives her a blank look. "Lydia Martin?"

"That name sounds familiar, but I don't-"

"Red hair, green eyes, short," Allison describes breathlessly. Please let them have gotten her out okay. Please let them have saved her.

"She wear high-heels everyday?" the boy asks and Allison nearly collapses in relief, dropping her head down and covering her eyes shakily.

"Yeah," she whispers, after a minute. "Umm, what about Stiles? Is he-"

"Yeah, I know him. There's the brown haired girl they hang out with too."

Allison looks up and frowns. Brown haired girl?

"She's a junior too. Kinda butch, also a werewolf?" he adds, but Allison has no idea who he could be talking about.

"I don't-what about Kira Yukimura? And the twins, Ethan and Aiden?" He shakes his head. "They'd hang out with Scott at school."

"Sorry, I ain't seen anyone with him except for Stiles, that Lydia girl, and the werewolf girl," he says with an uncomfortable shrug. "We're not friends or nothing. We're just in a lot of the same classes."

"What, what about Chris Argent? Early 40s, gray hair, blue eyes?" The boy shakes his head. "Derek Hale? Mid-twenties, dark hair? He's a werewolf too."

"Sorry," he says uncomfortably. "I just moved here three months ago. I don't really know many people in town."

Allison covers her eyes again. He doesn't know her father. He's not part of Scott's pack.

"Okay," she says, nodding, but doesn't look up. "Okay, that's..."

Scott, Lydia, and Stiles are alive. The nogitsune didn't kill them. She has to focus on that. She'll deal with the rest later.

"Alright, c'mon," the boy says, sounding worried. "You don't look so good."

Allison forces herself to walk, knees shaking, for another two minutes before they reach the edge of the woods. The boy's car, a beat up looking tan Ford of an indeterminate model is parked just off the road, blending in with the trees so that a passing car would probably completely miss it. He unlocks the door and grabs something out of the passenger seat, a gray jacket.

"Here," he says, handing it to her.

Allison takes it automatically, frowning at it. Why does he want her to hold his jacket?

The boy gives her an exasperated look, "No," he says, taking it from her. "Put it on."

He puts it over her shoulders and Allison slowly lifts her arms to put them through the arm holes. She tries to zip it up, but her hands are shaking too hard and he does it for her, careful not to touch her bare skin.

Allison looks down at herself. The jacket only barely touches the tops of her thighs. She should probably be more embarrassed by this. She's never been naked in front of anyone except Scott.

The boy opens the passenger door for her and Allison sits with her hands in her lap while they drive through the familiar streets of Beacon Hills, looking at the passing stores and houses under the street lights with new eyes.

She's surprised when they pull up to the house across from Jackson's. The boy parks in the driveway and gives her an assessing look. Allison doesn't move.

"Stay here," he says, opening his car door. "I'll get you some of my friend's clothes."

He's gone for about five minutes, leaving Allison to stare at the door of his garage. Everything is very still. Allison begins to wonder if she's entirely sane.

The boy comes back out of the house with a pink t-shirt, a light blue sweatshirt, and a pair of jean capris. They're all girls clothes and he leans against the front of the car, pointedly not looking at her while she slowly pulls them on. The t-shirt and sweatshirt are her size, but the capris are clearly made for someone with larger hips. They sag a little, but Allison doesn't complain and gets out of the car slowly, wincing when her injured feet hit the concrete.

The boy notices. "Your feet okay?"

The mud has dried, so she won't make a mess when she steps into his house. Allison nods.

The house is small for Beacon Hills, with a living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom taking up most of the ground floor. It is very empty, and smells of dust. The living room is devoid of furniture except for a long brown couch and a side table with a lamp on it against one wall and an empty bookshelf against the other. There is no TV.

Allison sits down on the couch, watching him go up the stairs. She hears him opening drawers and he brings down a white thermal blanket and a pillow.

"Thanks," she says. The word sounds strange coming from her mouth.

"Right, I'll...I'll be upstairs," the boy says awkwardly. "My room's right above you, behind you after you come up the stairs.

"Okay," Allison says blankly, still holding the folded up blanket on her lap.

"And my roommates will be up in a couple hours. They can't know about...anything. I could tell them I know you from school, but they're still going to want to know why you're, well, here. I guess I could say you had a fight with your dad, or some-"

"You can tell them my mother died," Allison says, looking away from him to look out the living room window. She should probably close the blinds. The street light from outside is casting distracting shadows on the living room floor. "It's true, anyway."

"Okay..." the boy says and Allison looks back at him to see an odd pitying look on his face. It's a strange look to see directed at her. Allison doesn't think anyone's looked at her quite like that before. She must look awful, but she can't bring herself to care.

The boy takes a step towards the stairs and then pauses, turning back to look at her for a second.

"Hey, what's your name?" he asks.

"Allison," she says and wiggles her toes. Flakes of dirt rub off and fall onto the floorboards.

"I'm Isaac," he replies and then lets out a snort of unamused laughter. "Nice meeting you and all that."

Allison doesn't think its very funny and merely nods. She hears him go upstairs, drawers moving again and then the house falls silent. She should probably try to sleep, but Allison's not tired. She's not anything really. She feels hollow, empty, dead.

Her feet are cold though and when she sees the sky begin to redden through the windows, Allison slowly pick her feet up, mindless of the dirt still stuck to them and curls herself into the corner of the couch, her back to the windows. She puts the blanket and pillow over them and presses her face into the back of the couch. Allison closes her eyes and tries not to feel anything. And for the most part, it works.

Time passes. Allison doesn't move. She just sits on the couch and stares unseeingly at the wall, the bare bookshelf. Isaac's roommates, a girl in her early-twenties with bleach-blonde hair, a short African-American girl with large eyes, and a little girl that is probably her younger sister, are not really sure what to make of her.

"How long is she going to stay here?" she hears the blonde woman ask the next night from the kitchen. "She's just been sitting there the entire day! It's fucking creepy!"

"It's my house," Isaac retorts. "And I told you, she's a friend of mine. Her mother died and she don't get on with her father. Just leave her alone."

"Friend of yours, yeah right," the woman mutters under her breath. "Like you have any friends."

Isaac goes to pick up the African-American girl at work and the little girl sits on the other side of the couch, reading a book. Every once and a while she looks up at Allison.

"Are you sad?" she finally asks.

"What?" Allison says, surprised into speaking.

The little girl brings up her feet onto the couch, mirroring Allison's position. "Isaac said you're sad. Are you? Why are you so dirty?"

"I don't know," Allison replies and closes her eyes against the tears she finds herself on the brink of.

"You don't know?"

Allison shakes her head and buries her head in her knees.

"Did you fall?" she asks. "Sometimes I fall and get dirt on my pants."

"Latisha, leave her be!" the blonde woman says from the kitchen. "Don't you got reading to do?"

Yes, Allison thinks as the little girl scrambles off the couch and runs back into the kitchen. I fell.

Later, Allison's not sure how much later, Isaac says, "Hey, you eat anything today?"

Allison looks up to see that it's dark outside again. "I'm not hungry," she murmurs.

Isaac doesn't look impressed. "You have to eat something. I think we have pasta with meatballs leftover fr-"

"I don't think I can," Allison says wearily, leaning her head back and staring up at the ceiling. "Eat. Like I can't sleep. Even breathing is...painful."

Isaac doesn't say anything and Allison closes her eyes again. It's almost been twenty-four hours since she came back and she's still here. Is this permanent? Will she stay like this? Or does she only have to wait a little bit longer before her body realizes it's dead and starts to decay?

Allison shudders. She wants her dad, but she can't. She can't. She can't do that to him again. And she still doesn't know if he's alive.

A thought occurs to her, so obvious she can't believe she didn't think of it before and she turns to look at Isaac again. "Do you have a computer?"

"No, I use the ones at the library."

Oh, Allison thinks, disappointed. No point in asking if he has a smartphone either.

"When will you go to the library next?"

"Um, tomorrow, probably? Why?" Isaac looks at her like he can't believe she's asking about a computer in her situation.

"Can you look up my father? See if he's still alive? His name's Chris Argent."

Isaac nods, sticking his hands in his pockets uncomfortably. "Okay. What about the others?"

Others? What others? The rest of her family is dead.

"The other people you mentioned last night?"

"Oh," Allison says. She'd completely forgotten. "Derek Hale, Kira Yukimura, Ethan and Aiden...I don't know their last names, though."

Or particularly care much about the twins.

"Yeah, you're going to have to write that down," Isaac says wryly. He hands her a notebook and a pencil from his backpack and Allison's hand shakes as she tries to spell out her father's name. It takes her three tries to write it out, and after that she can't bring herself to start on the next one. So she spells them out and he scribbles them down for her.

"I'll look these up later," Isaac says and then turns to look out the window, at the sky. "I have to go now, anyway. I'll be back tomorrow."

Allison nods absently. It's only after he leaves that she wonders why he's doing all this for her. They don't know each other, after all.

Isaac doesn't reappear until it's already light out and he doesn't even look at her, just goes straight upstairs to take a shower. Allison burrows herself further into the couch. It's a nice couch, even if it smells like dust and is ripped in places. Allison traces patterns into the gray-brown fabric and is quite content not moving a single inch.

Isaac's other roommate, Chantille, tries to get her to eat something in the morning, but Allison just hides her face in her knees until she goes to work. Holly goes in and out throughout the day, but doesn't try and talk to her, just looks at her suspiciously. She brings Latisha back from school one of these times and the little girl sits down next to her on the couch. Then, like Allison's a doll, she starts brushing her hair, shaking out the dirt and smoothing out the tangles, before braiding it into small braids. Allison closes her eyes and lets her do it because it feels good, to be close to another warm, living, breathing human. Latisha talks about her school and her friends in one unending narrative; she does not expect Allison to respond.

"-so Courtney didn't like me in the beginning and she made fun of my hair, but then Miss Miles told her to be nice so we ate lunch together and now she my best friend. I want her to come and sleep over, but Chantille says she can't, so I asked Isaac and he said our house is too dirty, but I don't thin-"

"Latisha, what are you doing, leave her alone," Isaac says, coming through the front door and scowling at the way Latisha is leaning against her shoulder to get to the hair on the other side of her head.

"She said I could!" Latisha protests, gripping Allison's shoulder, like she's afraid she's going to be dragged away.

"Girl, don't lie to me," Isaac snaps, taking off his shoes and backpack. "Go in the kitchen and do you homework. Go on now!"

Latisha lets out an angry whining noise but ultimately does what she's told and skips into the kitchen. Isaac watches her for a few seconds, presumably making sure she's actually doing it before turning back to her.

"I looked up your names," he says, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket. Allison sits up straight, putting her feet back down on the floor. She can feel the lack of the pounding of her heart more than anything else as she watches Isaac's face for any clue that-

"Your dad's alive, as far as I know. He sell guns?" Allison nods. "Yeah, I found his website, and it's been updated recently. Couldn't find anything on the other guy, except that he was wanted for murder last year. Twice. And the Chinese girl's Facebook says she lives in New York."

Allison closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, heedless of the irritation it sends spreading through her dead lungs. He's alive. Her father's _alive_. But the relief soon turns to horror. How had he dealt with the death of the last remaining member of his family? Allison wants to cry just thinking about it.

"I found an article about your death, by the way," Isaac says, sitting down on the other side of the couch and handing her a folded up piece of paper. Allison opens it and scans the blurb quickly. They'd used her freshman year yearbook photo and Allison barely recognizes the girl smiling innocently in it.

"A carjacking, huh," Allison whispers and closes it. "Smart."

"Yeah, I'm assuming you didn't actually die in a carjacking," Isaac says, and Allison shakes her head, but doesn't want to elaborate. She doesn't think she can talk about it yet.

"So...the same night you died a group of guys dressed like ninjas killed fifteen people at the hospital and police station," Isaac says, watching her carefully.

Allison doesn't react at first, but then her eyes widen. "The Sheriff's Station? Is the Sheriff-Stiles's dad, is he-"

"Yeah, he's alive. Here's the list of names, if you want."

Allison grabs the paper out of his hands, and scans the list quickly. She doesn't recognize any of them.

"These ninja guys the same ones that killed you?" Isaac asks casually, and Allison shifts uncomfortably, bringing her dirty feet back up on the couch and hiding them under the blanket.

"They weren't ninjas," she mutters, bringing her hands up to grip her hair and frowning when she feels the braids. "They were oni. Demons."

"There are demons here too?" Isaac says, sounding appalled and Allison bites back a laugh at the look on his face. Her mouth feels weird, like she's using extra muscles to smile.

"Thanks," she says softly, suddenly realizing she doesn't know where she'd be without his kindness. "For letting me stay here...for everything."

Isaac looks away, shrugging uncomfortably. "Not like you're taking up much room. You don't even eat."

Allison closes her eyes and turn her face to the couch again. She hears him get up after a minute and join Latisha in the kitchen.

Hours pass. Isaac leaves for work and Latisha comes back into the living room with her homework, lying on her stomach in front of the couch, kicking her feet backward every once and a while with excess energy.

"Holly!" she yells in the direction of the stairs. "What's 9+13?"

"21!" Holly yells back and Latisha scribbles it down dutifully.

"No, it's not," Allison says before she can stop herself. "It's 22."

Latisha looks up at her in surprise. "Are you sure?" she asks suspiciously.

"Yes," Allison replies, not really knowing why. "What's 9+3?"

Latisha thinks about it for a little while. "12."

"So 9+13 is...?" Latisha looks at her blankly. "22," Allison finishes, feeling slightly foolish. "Because 13 is 10 more than 3."

"Oh," Latisha says and erases her answer. "What's 8+15?"

"What's 8+5?"

They go on like this for a while and eventually Latisha gives Allison a packet of math homework to check over. The arithmetic is mind-numbing and for a while Allison forgets everything except checking the math in front of her, the simple black numbers on white paper a callback to her own childhood, when things were simple.

By the time Chantille returns from work they've moved on to Latisha's reading homework, Latisha sitting at Allison's side on the couch while she sounds out the words.

"I don't like this book," Latisha complains.

"What's it about?" Chantille says, looking curiously over her.

"A pig and a spider. The spider's name is Charlotte and the pig's name is Wilper."

"Wilbur," Allison corrects, pointing to the name.

"Why don't you like it?"

"It's boring," Latisha says, rolling her eyes like it's obvious. "Can we eat dinner now?"

"Yeah, yeah, just let me change first." She gives Allison an assessing look. "You gonna eat anything?"

Allison shakes her head. She doesn't want to know what will happen if she tries to eat anything.

Chantille sighs. "It's your funeral. Hey, Holly, get down here, we're going to start dinner!"

They heat up microwave dinners and both Latisha and Chantille try to get her to eat one, but Allison just buries her head in the couch until they go away. The sun sets and they all go up to bed, leaving Allison alone with the emptiness in her chest. She wonders when Isaac is going to come home. He'd been gone all night last night, hadn't he? Allison wonders what he was doing.

Isaac comes home and sits in the kitchen for about an hour afterward, doing homework. Allison wonders if he'd let her do it for him, but doesn't ask. He asks if she needs anything before he goes to bed and Allison shakes her head wordlessly. She doesn't need anything. She'll never need anything again. That's the problem.

Isaac goes upstairs. The house is quiet and dark, the only lights coming from the streetlights outside. Allison sits very still, and remembers how as a child, the dark had scared her to the extent that she's had a nightlight until she was twelve. Her mother had never liked it. She'd called her a crybaby and her father said she had to get used to the dark. She had to be strong. They hadn't taken it away, though. Allison tries to focus on that.

And then the pain hits. Allison doubles over, clutching her stomach, a shocked cry ripping itself from her dry throat. She wraps her arms around herself, but it doesn't stop, something bubbling in her throat and Allison feels something wet spurt out of her mouth and drip down her chin.

Oh, God. This is it, isn't it? This is how she goes.

Allison stumbles to her feet, wiping her mouth even as she chokes on more liquid rising from her stomach into her mouth. She has to find a bathroom before she barfs blood all over Isaac's floor. She stumbles down the hallway next to the kitchen and opens a door, but it's not a bathroom, just the basement. The second door is a bathroom, though, and Allison barely manages to flip on the light switch before she's vomiting black sludge into the toilet.

It's not blood, she thinks, looking at her hands and gasping for breath over the toilet, at least she doesn't think it is. It's black, like Scott's blood was when she stitched him up in the rest stop bathroom. She remembers hearing about ebola patients vomiting up black sludge that was their liquified organs and lets out a sob of despair. Of course. She's supposed to be a corpse, decomposed after months in the ground. Of course she'd fall apart like this.

Another wave of pain jolts through her and Allison grips the side of the toilet, vomiting even more this time. When it's over she slumps, her hair sticking to the side of the toilet bowl and spits automatically to get the bad taste out of her mouth. The sludge tastes like dirt and her own stomach acid.

Tears spill down her cheeks and Allison barely has time time wipe them away before the next wave hits, more painful that the rest combined and something in her chest _lurches_. Her scream is muffled by her vomit, which has filled up the toilet bowl to the brim, threatening to spill out over the bathroom floor. Once Allison has stopped whimpering in pain, she flushes the toilet, leaving black streaks all over the handle.

"Allison?" she hears Isaac say from the door. "What the fuc-are you okay?"

"Don't-" she gasps, not daring to look up at him. "Isaac, just don't-I can't-I don't think I can-"

She spits out another mouthful of the sludge and squeezes her eyes shut rather than look at it sink to the bottom of the toilet bowl.

"Shit, Allison, you need to go to the hospital!" Isaac says, voice high with panic, but Allison shakes her head. What could the hospital do? And even worse, if Melissa found out she was there she'd surely tell her dad and Scott and Allison can't...she can't have her dad, no matter how much she wants him. She can't do that to him, she thinks, trying to focus on that thought and not on her life fading away, for the second time.

"Can't," she gasps, fingers shaking uncontrollably against the toilet seat. "Won't do any good."

"Allison-" he says, voice low and shocked, but Allison doesn't want to hear it right now. She died the first time with Scott trying desperately to save her, even after he knew it was too late. She can't do that again. She doesn't want to fight. She doesn't want to be in pain either, but that doesn't seem like it's an option right now because her chest is on _fire_.

"Don't," Allison snarls and breathes deep, in and out, just like her mother taught her.

"Allison, you-"

"I said don't!" Allison shrieks, her voice reaching an octave Allison wasn't sure was humanly possible.

"Allison, your heart is beating!"

Allison goes very still and brings her right hand up to her chest. He's right. She can feel it. Allison takes a deep breath and gasps in relief as the air rushes smoothly into her lungs, without any irritation. She looks up at Isaac, black sludge still dripping from her mouth, and sees her shock mirrored in his face.

"What," she says blankly, looking down at herself. "How is that-I'm practically puking up my organs here!"

Isaac doesn't answer, just keeps staring at her and Allison wipes her mouth, falling to the side away from the toilet to lean against the wall, her right hand still pressed tightly over her heart.

Minutes go by as they both stay utterly still and listen to the steady rhythm of her heart and the rush of air in and out of her lungs as she breathes. Her heart doesn't show any signs of stopping and continues pumping away, leaving Allison bewildered and afraid to hope.

After a bit she realizes that the sludge on her mouth is drying and she grabs a wad of toilet paper and tries to rub it off. When that doesn't work she tries to stand to wash it off at the sink, but she only gets halfway there before her knees give way.

Isaac catches her and she thanks him by spitting up more black sludge onto his t-shirt.

"Oh, fuck, you have got to be kiddin-"

"I'm sorry," Allison says, trying not sob into his shoulder and Isaac gives her an awkward pat on the back.

"Yeah, yeah, okay, let's get you cleaned up," he mutters and turns on the sink, still holding her upright with one hand. He's very tall. Allison doesn't think she noticed that before.

Allison can't stand, her legs are so weak, so Isaac has to grip her around the waist while she washes off her face and rinses out her mouth, and help her back to the couch. Then, because Allison's shaking so hard at this point that dirt from her hair is coming off in little clouds of dust, he wraps the blanket around her shoulder. Allison almost starts sobbing at this, because he's being so nice and all she's done is cause problems for him since she arrived.

"...ison. Hey, Allison!" Allison blinks and shakes her head a little, realizing that he's trying to get her attention. He's standing a full two feet in front of her, as if he doesn't want to get too close. "Are you okay?"

What kind of stupid question is that? Allison thinks. Does she _look_ okay?

"Yeah, I'm..." Allison says and trails off as she tries to take stock of herself. It's hard when she's trembling like a leaf, but her heart is still beating. She's still breathing. Nothing hurts anymore except a dull pain in her stomach. It feel familiar though, like a cramp, but-

Her stomach growls.

"I'm hungry," Allison says disbelievingly.

Isaac raises an eyebrow. "For...brains?"

She glares at him, hunching over a little in self-consciousness.

"Alright, alright, not funny, I get it," Isaac says with a smirk. "What do you want to eat?"

Allison has no idea. She can't even remember the taste of food. But she knows she technically hasn't eaten in months and she remembers hearing stories about starving people getting sick after eating too much. She should start with something light.

"Salad," she says, because it's green and alive. "Do you have salad?"

"Yeah..." Isaac says with a huff of laughter. "We have pasta, shitty microwave dinners, hotdogs, and frozen burritos, and whatever else Chantille bought last week, which definitely does not include salad."

He ends up finding a can of tomato soup in a cupboard. Allison has to stop him from sticking the whole can in the microwave to heat it up, but when she finally gets to eat it, she's salivating so much she's afraid she's going to begin to drool.

"It good?" Isaac asks, watching her eat with an amused expression on his face.

Allison nods. It's smooth and creamy and so, so warm. Allison thinks she could eat tomato soup and tomato soup alone for the rest of her life. However long that will be.

* * *

Allison wakes up the next morning in a panic. She can't remember where she is. She doesn't even remember falling asleep. She's on a couch, in a small dusty room with hardly any furniture, sunlight streaming through the blinds, and there's someon-

Isaac is asleep on the other side of the couch, head lolled back, mouth open, and Allison remembers. She makes a wild grab for her heart and lets out a small noise of relief when she finds it still beating, sagging back against the couch. The last thing she remembers is finishing the soup and resting her head on the kitchen table for just a minute. She must have fallen asleep.

It's early still, but Allison's stomach is already growling. She's tempted to go into the kitchen and find something else to eat, but doesn't move. Instead, she finds herself looking at Isaac, his white shirt still stained with her black sludge near the shoulder. His eyelashes seem very long with his eyes closed.

She's not really sure what to make of him. He's been very kind to her, but Allison doesn't understand why. They don't know each other.

Finally, the hunger gets to be too much and Allison makes her way into the kitchen, dragging the blanket with her and wincing at the pain in her feet with every step. The kitchen is small and dirty, crumbs on the floor that irritate her feet, smudges on the fridge and microwave, and a stack of dirty dishes teetering in the sink. She looks through the fridge and the cupboards, but they don't have a lot of food. Most of it is prepackaged, pre-prepared stuff. There isn't any fresh fruit or vegetables. Allison finds a packet of applesauce cups with cartoon characters on the package that is probably meant for Latisha and eats three of them in a row, savoring the taste of fruit on her tongue, even if it's filled with a ton of sugar.

Holly comes downstairs in only a bra and a pair of sweatpants that are too small for her. She gives Allison a strange look, grabbing a bottle of juice out of the fridge.

"So you finally decided to eat something," she says, pouring herself a drink. "About fucking time. Chantille kept worrying you were going to keel over."

Allison doesn't say anything, just stares at the track marks on both her arms. When Holly turns around, she quickly looks elsewhere.

"So what's your deal?" Holly asks, sitting down in the chair across from her, leaning back against the chair and looking at Allison with raised brows. Allison can smell the tobacco radiating off her in waves. "Isaac said your mother died, but you look like you crawled out of the grave. What did you do, roll around in the mud naked?"

Allison stares at her incredulously. Crawled out of the grave?

"You're wearing my sweatshirt and Chantille's pants," Holly says, gesturing at the borrowed clothes.

Allison shrugs and takes another bite of applesauce. "Yeah," she says simply.

Holly rolls her eyes. "Well you certainly talkative today. You really Isaac's friend from school? Because I smell bullshit on that. He ain't said nothing else about you."

Allison just nods absently and scraps the last of the applesauce out of the cup.

"You're not on something weird, are you? 'Cause I heard those prescription pills can fuck you up if you do 'em rig-"

"Holly, leave her the fuck alone," Isaac groans from the other room, and Allison turns around to see him stumble into the kitchen blearily. "And put on a fucking shirt."

Holly gives him the finger and adjusts her left bra strap. Her bra is dark purple with black lace. It's really quite pretty, but it doesn't look like it fits right and some of the lace is peeling off the right cup.

"Stop acting a bitch. And what died on your shirt?" Holly asks, looking at the black stain in disgust. "Is that pen ink?"

"Go put on a shirt," Isaac repeats irritably, grabbing the bottle of juice and putting it back in the fridge. "I fucking told you not to walk around here like that."

Holly lets out a nasty laugh. "Yeah, your neighbors are going to think you running a whorehouse up in here. Got girls of all different shapes and sizes. That or you got yourself a harem."

"Bitch, I wouldn't fuck you with someone else's dick and don't you even joke abou-"

Allison tunes them out, looking at the grime under her nails and then down at her dirt-crusted feet. She really does look like she rolled around in the mud. Even with Latisha's brushing, her hair still feels pretty gross and dry.

"I'm going to take a shower," she says, interrupting Holly and Isaac's bickering. They both turn to stare at her.

"What? You want a fucking metal for it?" Holly asks, looking unimpressed. "Fucking finally's all I can say. I'm surprised you ain't stank up the whole ho-"

"Shut up," Isaac tells her and then turns to Allison with a slightly concerned look in his eyes. "Shower's upstairs on the right. I can get you new clothes too."

Holly mutters something about Isaac's taste in women, but Isaac just glares at her and shows Allison upstairs without comment. The second floor of Isaac's house is somehow even more cramped than the first. There are three bedrooms and a bathroom with blue tile and a molding ceiling. Allison stares at herself in the bathroom mirror while Isaac goes into Chantille and Latisha's room to get her new clothes. She looks very different from what she remembers. Her hair is a disaster, puffed up places and still braided in others from yesterday. There's mud smeared on her left cheek, right under her eye and two small cuts on her forehead and chin, probably from the bushes. She's very white and her eyes seem brighter than usual, lips pale and thin.

"Here, I dunno if these are going to fit," Isaac says, startling out of her reverie. He comes in the bathroom holding a pile of haphazardly folded clothes and hold them out to her awkwardly. Allison takes them and puts them down the the bathroom counter. She picks up the red t-shirt with a logo of some company that she should probably recognize and holds it up to her chest.

"Right, I'll be downstairs," Isaac says, shoulders hunched uncomfortably and practically bolts out of the room, closing the door behind him. Allison frowns in confusion, not really understanding why sometime he seems afraid of her, instead of the other way around. He doesn't even know who she is.

She picks up the black skirt, which is knee length and kind of ruffly, and frowns. He didn't give her a bra or underwear. To be fair, she supposes it would be a little weird going through his friends' stuff looking for underwear to give to a girl he barely knows and Allison doesn't really want to ask him too. Instead she turns on the shower to a scalding heat, undresses, and steps inside, letting the water run over her dirty body like a fiery baptism.

It takes her three tries to wash all the dirt out of her hair and by the time she's finished her arms are so tired she has to lean against the shower wall for a few minutes to regain her arm strength to wash the rest of her. That's even more painful. Her body is covered in small cuts that sting when soap gets in them and her right knee has a large cut across it, bruising stretching down to her shin. Washing her feet off is pure torture and Allison has to sit down and scrub them thoroughly to get the mud off, biting her lip to avoid whimpering in pain. There's a razor and shaving cream along with the shampoo, body wash, and bar soap, but Allison doesn't bother shaving and steps out of the shower into the steamy bathroom, wiping off the mirror to see her reflection.

She looks...better. Her hair is much improved and there's some color in her cheeks at least.

She puts on the clothes Isaac brought her and combs through her hair with her fingers. She doesn't see the brush Latisha used, so it must be in her room. The clothes smell like flowery detergent, and it offsets the the boyish smell of her hair. She'd used Isaac's shampoo, not knowing if Chantille's would be effective. The body wash smelled like grape fruit though. Allison buries her nose in the t-shirt and inhales, looking at herself in the mirror. Clothes, smell, all these pieces of other people, people she barely knows.

It should feel uncomfortable, but instead it makes her feel safe, protected, like a turtle's shell. Allison isn't ready to go back to being herself just yet.

Isaac is gone when she comes downstairs, and Chantille and Holly are sitting in the kitchen eating cereal, with what looks like fruit punch instead of milk.

"She lives!" Chantille says, looking up at her with a tentative smile. "Come and eat something before you starve to death. I see you ate half of Latisha's applesauce, but that can't have been enough."

"Oh," Allison says, thinking back to her early morning snack. Why didn't she ask if it was okay to eat their food? "Sorry."

Chantille waves her apology away and gets another white ceramic bowl from the cupboard, filling it with cheerios and juice. "Don't apologize, eat! You're too skinny!"

"Like you one to talk, Chantille," Holly says dryly, yawning and pushing her shoulder length hair to the side. "You're a hundred pounds soaking wet."

"A hundred and five, these ain't made of air," Chantille says, pointing to her breasts and they both burst out laughing, leaving Allison slightly confused.

"Skinny bitches," Holly complains, but she's still smiling.

"Now, eat," Chantille orders, placing the bowl at the place of the nearest seat to her. Allison dutifully sits in the chair and stares down at the cereal. She doesn't really want to eat it, but she doubts there's anything better to eat in the house.

"Where's Isaac?" she asks after she finishes about half the bowl, trying to ignore the piece of something that's stuck to the spoon that clearly hadn't come out in the dishwasher.

"At school," Chantille says, looking at her a little weird. "It's Thursday."

"Okay."

"Your dad know where you are?" Holly asks, exchanging a look with Chantille that Allison can't interpret. "Only 'cause we've had trouble with the cops before."

Allison looks at them blankly. "What kind of trouble?" And what does it have to do with her?

"You know cops," Chantille says vaguely, brushing her hair back behind her ears. "Always gotta be making things harder. They ain't exactly pleased we living in this fancy neighborhood, you feel me?"

Why are they living here? Allison wonders. Allison is pretty sure both Chantille and Isaac are underage and Holly is definitely not old enough to be their guardian. Both Chantille and Isaac have jobs in the service sector and Isaac's is part time; there is no way they could afford a house in this neighborhood, even as small as this one is. And cops have been bothering them for living here? The Sheriff can't know about that, can he?

"My dad's not looking for me," Allison says after they press her more, barely managing to get the words out and then she has to go back and sit on the couch, hiding her face in her knees.

Chantille leaves for work after an hour or two, leaving Allison alone with Holly. Allison is forced back into the kitchen for lunch, going through the fridge and cupboards trying to find something edible.

"What are you doing?" Holly asks, coming down the stairs behind her, sounding suspicious. Allison has no idea what she does all day, alone in this house without a television or computer besides going out back to smoke. She hasn't seen any books either.

"Trying to find something to eat."

"Yeah, we haven't gone shopping in a while," Holly says, coming to lean against the counter next to her. A little too close for Allison's comfort, actually. "But we do have pasta and frozen shit."

"Everything you have is prepackaged," Allison says, trying not to sound frustrated. It's not her house after all, and they're letting her stay here even though they don't know her.

"Yeah, well, none of us is exactly Martha Stewart," Holly says, sounding offended. "Why, you know how to cook?"

"Yes."

Holly pauses before continuing. "Can you make meatloaf?"

"Yes, but you don't have any-"

"How about omelets?"

Allison looks up to see a greedy look on Holly's face, gazing at Allison like she's the key to all the happiness in the world.

"Yes," Allison says slowly, starting to feel a bit weirded out. "But you don't have any eggs."

"We'll go shopping!" Holly says happily, pushing off the counter and heading toward the door. "We have to go anyway and you can get whatever you need to make lunch."

Allison doesn't move, feeling sick even at the mention of leaving the house. She can't...she won't...It's not even that people might recognize her. It's that the idea of venturing out into Beacon Hills makes her want to curl into a ball and cry.

Holly turns around at the kitchen door. "Are you coming?" she asks impatiently.

Allison slides to the floor, leaning against the bottom counters and shakes her head vigorously, looking at the floor instead of at Holly. She can't, she can't, she can't...

Holly sighs. "Of course," she mutters, while Allison takes deep breaths and tries not to whimper.

"Can you write down everything you need?" Holly asks after a minute and Allison opens her eyes to meet her gaze and is surprised at the compassion in Holly's face. She'd never seemed the most sympathetic type. Allison had been wondering why she was living with Isaac and Chantille, especially since she didn't seem to get a long at all with the former.

"Yeah," Allison says and gets shakily to her feet. "I can do that."

* * *

"What," Isaac says when he brings Latisha home from school a couple hours later, "the fuck."

"We are keeping her forever!" Holly says happily, smiling at Allison like she's a particularly smart puppy. "She can _cook_, Isaac!"

"What _is_ that?" Isaac asks, coming up to the stove to look inside the frying pan suspiciously.

"Salmon," Allison says, not looking up from where she's cutting up red pepper and garlic. "And the sauce is in the other pot."

"It smells good," Latisha says shyly.

"There's leftover lasagna from lunch in the fridge if you don't like fish," Allison says, pure business. She's always liked cooking. It'd been a family thing.

"Holly, how much of the grocery money did you spend?" Isaac says, looking into the stocked fridge.

"$25," Holly says smugly, waving the receipt at him. "Yeah, read it and weep, motherfucker."

"Huh," Isaac says, sounding impressed and Allison hides her smile, throwing the garlic and red pepper into the frying pan.

"Where are your knives, by the way?" Allison says, looking up at him for the first time while she stirs the salmon and vegetables.

Isaac gives her an odd look. "You're holding one."

Allison raise an eyebrow. "This is a butter knife. It's not sharp. It's pretty hard to cut anything with it."

Cutting the potatoes had been particularly annoying.

"If it's not in here, I don't know where it would be," Isaac says and then looks down at the oven. "Are you baking something?"

"Casserole," Holly moans. "Seriously, don't let go of this one, Isaac."

Isaac gives Holly an annoyed look and then turns to Allison, a hopeful look on his face. "Can you make Mexican food?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Holly groans, throwing her hands up in the air.

By the time Chantille comes home, the casserole is done and Allison piles it, the salmon, and the salad (iceberg lettuce, but she can deal with it) onto separate plates, refusing any help.

"Okay, you can live here forever," Chantille moans, digging into the salmon with gusto. "I don't even like fish and this is still the best fucking thing I've ever had in my mouth."

Isaac and Holly make twin grunts of agreement, too busy stuffing their faces to give a real answer. Allison ducks down to hide her smile, feeling warm and satisfied in way she hasn't since she came back.

"Can you make cake?" Latisha asks excitedly, swinging her feet back and forth.

"If I have all the ingredients," Allison responds, trying not to moan as she devours her salad. God, she's missed this.

That night she sleeps spread out on the ratty couch, the blanket tucked carefully under her to avoid touching her skin to the scratchy fabric. She doesn't dream.

Allison makes apple pancakes in the morning and then spends the rest of the day trying to figure out what she's going to make for dinner. Isaac seems to like Mexican food, going by his comment yesterday and the truly ridiculous amount of frozen burritos in the freezer, but Allison doesn't know any Mexican recipes by heart. She convinces Holly to get a cookbook from the library and then writes another list of ingredients she needs, picking recipes she knows won't be too expensive to make. Holly, bored out of her mind, and clearly excited about the possibility of more home-cooked food, does not need much persuading.

She makes enchiladas and calabacitas, though she can't use as many spices as she would like, not wanting Holly to have to buy a ton of different spice bottles.

"Here," Allison says, putting down the last two plates on the table and then goes to pour drinks.

"What is this?" Latisha asks, poking at her enchilada dubiously.

"It's good for you, eat it," Isaac tells her, ducking his head over his plate. He seemed very embarrassed when she told him what she was making, like he hadn't actually realized that she would make something he liked. Allison doesn't really understand Isaac.

Holly, Chantille, and Isaac dig in with gusto, but Latisha is more reserved. She eats the enchilada, but picks at the calabacitas uncertainly.

"Girl, Allison worked hard on that and it's good for you," Chantille says reprovingly when she notices. "Eat your vegetables now."

"Okay," Latisha mutters sulkily, scooping up the pieces of corn, tomato, and onion and putting them into her mouth with exaggerated expressions of disgust.

Isaac finishes first and Allison picks up his plate without asking if he wants second, and filling it for the second time. When she comes back, Isaac is bright red and won't meet her eyes, hunched over a bit in his seat.

"Thanks," he mutters, barely audible over Holly and Chantille's conversation about some rude customer at her job, picking up his spoon again. Allison frowns as she sits back down and takes another bite of her enchilada. She doesn't understand why he's so embarrassed. He'd given her food a couple days ago. Why was it so surprising when the reverse occurred?

Maybe he's not used to it, Allison thinks later, watching Isaac later that night as she does the dishes. He's doing homework at the kitchen table, even though it's a Friday night, because it's one of his only nights off. From the way Holly and Chantille talk about their living situation, Allison is pretty sure that the house is Isaac's. How he acquired it, Allison has no idea. From his parents? Who are dead? But hadn't he said he just moved to Beacon Hills in January?

But it looks like Isaac's used to taking care of them all, not be taken care of return. Still, inviting a strange dead girl into his home? Does not sound like a smart idea.

"What are you doing?" she asks, after he curses for the third time and erases his answer.

"Geometry," Isaac says unhappily, holding up the textbook. "Which I am failing."

Allison frowns; he doesn't look like a sophomore, he looks like a senior. "What year are you?"

"Junior," Isaac responds morosely. "But LA schools are shit, so they put me in Geometry."

"LA," Allison says, speculatively, looking out into the living room where Holly, Chantille, and Latisha are playing monopoly. "Is that where you all are from?"

"Yeah," Isaac says, looking a little surprised at her questions. "I grew up in this house, but I moved to LA when I was twelve. My dad died last year, so I got the house."

"Oh," Allison says quietly. "Sorry."

Isaac gives her a confused look. "Why?"

"For your dad dying."

Isaac grins. It's not a nice smile and for the first time Allison can see the wolf in his face. "Don't be. Dying was the best thing that bastard ever did."

Allison doesn't really know what to say to that, so she turns back to the dishes. When she finishes, Isaac is still scowling over his homework.

Allison sits down next to him and holds out her hand. "Let me see it."

Isaac gives her a wide-eyed look, incongruous to his nasty smirk, and hands her the paper meekly. Allison was always fairly good at geometry, though she has to look at the book to refresh herself on some of the proofs. Isaac's handwriting is horrible though.

"This ain't even math," Isaac complains, glaring down at her corrections. "It's fucking memorization and putting shit in the right order. I thought math was supposed to be about equations."

"You'll have Trig, next year, which is equations again," Allison says absently, flipping through the text book. "Or Algebra II."

"At least it's better than Economics," Isaac groans, covering his face with his hands. He looks exhausted and Allison is suddenly reminded that in addition to school and work and taking care of all the people in his house, Isaac is a werewolf. Who lives in Beacon Hills.

"Holly said you had problems with the police," Allison says, making sure to keep her voice down. "Why is that?"

Isaac's shoulders hunch and he doesn't respond for minute, eyes fixed on his homework.

"Your friends weren't very happy when I moved back here," he says finally, and his voice is calm, but Allison can detect an undercurrent of anger in it, his body held stiff and uncomfortable. "To date, they have tried to have me arrested three times. And two of those times were successful."

Allison stares. Scott tried to have Isaac _arrested_? Why? Even if Isaac was a new threat, how would being thrown in the Beacon Hills jail solve anything? He'd be able to break out easily.

"After the last year you had, I guess I can't blame them for being suspicious though," Isaac says unconvincingly, making it very much clear that he _does_ blame them. A lot.

"You're an omega, right?" Allison asks, even though she already knows the answer.

"What does that even _mean_?" Isaac demands, with more vehemence than Allison was expecting, causing her to jump in her seat. "Everyone keeps saying that."

"It means you don't have a pack," Allison explains, surprised that he doesn't know this. What kind of werewolf is he?

Isaac gives her a disgusted look. "Like a wolf pack? Fuck no."

"What happened to your Alpha?" Isaac gives her a blank look. "The werewolf that bit you. Or were you born a werewolf?"

"You can be born a werewolf?" Isaac says disbelievingly, and she guess that answers that question.

"How long have you been a werewolf?"

Isaac shrugs. "About two and a half years. I got bitten in LA. Didn't even know Beacon Hills is apparently werewolf central until I moved here."

Two and a half years. He would have been fourteen.

"So alphas are werewolves that turn other people into werewolves?" he asks curiously, leaning forward on his forearms. "Does that have something to do with the different color eyes?"

"Sort of," Allison replies, a little bemused at his ignorance. "Alphas are the strongest, and they have red eyes. They don't have to turn other people into werewolves, but they can if they bite them." A thought occurs to her. "You know if you bit someone, they wouldn't turn, right?"

"Yeah," Isaac says quietly, in a way that does not bode well. "I know that."

"Betas and omegas' eyes are gold. Betas are wolves in a pack."

Isaac frowns. "What about blue eyes?"

Allison goes very still. "Where have you seen blue eyes?" she asks carefully, going cold. Isaac has never met Derek, which meant... "Have you seen Peter? Stay away from him, he's dangerous."

"Who's Peter?" Isaac asks, confused. "And no, that girl werewolf Scott hangs out with has blue eyes."

What? Why on earth would Scott-

"Wait, does she have brown hair, brown eyes?" Allison asks and lets out a groan of annoyance when Isaac nods. Of course. "Malia," she says to herself more than Isaac. "I almost forgot about her."

"That name sounds right," Isaac says, still looking curious.

"Yeah, I just didn't think...we didn't know each other that well and she didn't go to our school when I was alive," Allison says. Isaac is still looking at her expectantly. "Blue eyes mean you've killed innocent people."

Isaac stares. "What," he says flatly. "You mean that girl-"

"It was an accident, when she was eight," Allison says, not really wanting to discuss the details. "How come you don't know any of this?" she asks, wanting to get off the topic of Malia Tate and Peter Hale. "Didn't the werewolf that bit you tell you anything?"

"She didn't really get the chance?" Isaac says, not looking too sure. "I mean, it was a hit and run more than anything. I was in Chinatown and she knocked me over, bit me, and then ran. It might have even been an accident. I never saw her again anyway."

"So...no one told you anything?" Allison asks, horrified. Scott had at least had Derek to teach him the ropes, even if he had been a horrible teacher. Isaac must have been terrified. And his first full moon...He's had two and a half years of this?

Isaac shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with her concern. "So, Scott's an alpha then?" he asks, blatantly trying to steer the conversation away from himself. "How does that happen?"

"You kill another alpha," Allison says, with a sad smile. "Unless you're Scott, of course."

Isaac looks at her disbelievingly."What does that mean?"

"Scott's special," Allison says, not really wanting to get into the specifics of whatever a "True Alpha" is. "And he could never kill anyone anyway. Even when he probably should."

Scott. Oh, Scott. Allison hasn't thought much about him over the past few days, has focused on her dad instead, but now her chest aches for him. She still loves him, of course. She's always known, even if she tried not to think about it in the last few months of her life. It hadn't taken her dying for her to realize that. And she'd died in his arms. She hopes that he's okay, that he'd been able to come to terms with her death. Move on even, though it looks like Kira left before January. She hopes he's happy, but...he's not. Allison knows him too well to believe that and she feels physical pain in her chest as she thinks about what these past months must have been like for him. For her father. For Lydia. For Stiles.

"Allison?" Isaac says quietly and Allison blinks away the tears in her eyes, turning her face away from him to wipe them away.

"Mm, I think," she says shakily, getting out of the chair. "I think, I'll go to bed now."

"It's not even nine," Isaac says, but she doesn't look at him and goes back to the couch. Holly and Chantille look up at her from their game of Monopoly on the floor, but her feelings must show on her face, because they don't say anything as she grabs the blanket and cocoons herself in it, pressing her face into the couch.

She's doing the right thing, she tells herself. She has to stay away from them, all of them, until she knows what's going on. If this is permanent. She can't die on them twice.

The next few days are slow, but nice. Allison cooks more, helps Isaac and Latisha with their homework, exchanges small talk with Holly and Chantille. The cuts on her body heal, though her knee and feet still cause her pain when she walks.

She doesn't leave the house, though. This house, with Isaac, Holly, Latisha, and Chantille, it doesn't feel like Beacon Hills. It feels safe. Like a castle with a moat around it. The analogy makes her the princess, which she isn't too pleased about, but it also makes Isaac the dragon and that thought is amusing enough that she laughs out loud when it crosses her mind. Isaac gives her a strange look at that, but she just shakes her head and goes back to checking over his Econ homework. She'd been failing Econ when she died, but Isaac has never taken it in his life, and he needs all the help he can get.

She likes Isaac. He's kind of prickly, has a sharp, almost cruel sense of humor, and swears far too much, but he clearly takes the protection of those under his care very seriously. It's easy to see how Chantille, Latisha, and even Holly feel like they can rely on him, even though they've only lived together for a short time and the fact that Allison suspects they each have had their fair share of hardship in their lives.

She likes them too. Chantille is bright and optimistic, even though she's working a full time job at fifteen and has taken far too much responsibility for herself and her sister than any teenager should ever have to deal with. Holly is more difficult. She's sarcastic and cruel, even more so than Isaac sometimes, but she has a soft spot for Chantille and Latisha, and she clearly trusts Isaac, even though she tries to pretend that she hates him. It isn't hard to see looking at her that she's been hurt before. Latisha is, of course, adorable.

They're all surprisingly open to her staying with them too. The fact that a stranger has moved into their house does not seem to phase them and Allison feels accepted into their refuge for the lost without even knowing what she's done to deserve it. Sometimes Allison looks at them and is afraid of how lucky she is. How one wrong turn could have kept this from ever happening. From her ever being here.

The couch is still not very comfortable though, and one night, Allison can't stand it any longer. She picks up her pillow and walks quietly up the dark staircase. She stands on the second floor landing for a few seconds in contemplation. Is she really going to do this?

She is. Allison doubts very much Isaac has any manner of sexual interest in her; in fact she's pretty sure he goes out of his way to keep out of her personal space to disabuse her of such a notion. She pushes Isaac's door open slowly, surprised at the smallness of his room. The ceiling is vaunted, making the room appear even smaller and like the living room, his room is very empty. There is a dresser, a bed, and a bedside table with a lamp on it and that is all. There's not even a closet, making Allison wonder if this was supposed to be a bedroom at all. Unlike Scott's room, which was covered in posters, knick knacks, and dirty clothes, Isaac's room is spotless, except for the dust. Even his comforter is a dark gray.

Allison, goes over to his bed, which is a double and shakes his shoulder. Isaac lets out a shocked gasping noise and sits up blearily, turning to look at her in confusion. His feet stick off the end of the bed a little.

"Allison?" he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. He's wearing the same white t-shirt that he always does. She doesn't think he has any other clothes. "Wha's wrong?"

"Your couch is itchy," she tells him plainly, trying not to let on how nervous she is. "Can I sleep here?"

Isaac blinks at her, taking a couple of seconds for her words to sink in.

"Uh, okay," he says and then actually makes to get out of his bed.

"No," Allison says, annoyed at how easily he would give away his own bed. "You don't have to leave."

Isaac looks extremely confused and then his eyes widen even further when she peels back the covers and gets in beside him, putting her pillow vertically on the mattress so it will fit.

"Allison," he says, and she can't really make out much of his face, but she's willing to bet he's blushing. "I ain't...I'm not wearing pants."

"I don't care," Allison says truthfully. She'd doubt she'd care if he was completely naked.

She lies down on her back and breathes quietly. His bed smells like his shampoo. Isaac shifts around uncomfortably and lies back down again, still staring at her. She turns to look at him, eyebrows raised, and his eyes dart away.

"Right," he says, voice suddenly going hard. "You try and fuck me and I'm going to sleep on the couch."

"Okay," Allison says and turns her head back to stare up at the ceiling and smiles because she knows she's made the right decision.

Isaac shifts onto his stomach, careful not to brush against her, and it's a testament to how exhausted he is that he falls asleep shortly after.

Allison turns to look at his sleeping face and feels a shockingly strong protective urge wash over her at the sight. She wonders why Scott dislikes him so much. Isaac doesn't seem to be doing anything but scraping by, even helping others when he'd probably be better off in the long run without them. It seems like they should be friends.

Don't think about Scott, she tells herself though, because she knows that way only lies pain. Instead, Allison stares up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of Isaac's snoring, and thinks, in that moment, that she could stay in this house forever.

**A/N: Yay, Allison! Not going to lie, I'm super excited about this chapter, so you should all leave a review and tell me what you think!**


	13. Isaac VIII

"You said salad, I bought salad," Isaac complains, holding up the package of shredded leaves.

"That isn't even real lettuce," Allison responds, taking the package from him and glaring. "This is iceberg lettuce. I said to buy the whole lettuce head. Romaine. Red leaf. Not _this_."

Isaac rolls his eyes. "Red leaf? Is that that purple shit? No way was I buying that. This is all torn up and everything. It's easier to make!"

Allison rolls her eyes and grumbles, but puts the package in the fridge and doesn't say anything else. He doesn't know why she's so obsessed with salad. Isaac hadn't eaten it since he lived with his dad before she came along and started insisting on green vegetables with everything.

"How was school?" Allison asks Latisha distractedly as she starts cutting up the chicken with their new knife.

"I got a gold star for my science test," Latisha announces excitedly, pounding on the table with her spoon and fork like a cartoon character waiting for a meal. "But Miss Topolski said I have to work on my handwriting."

"I don't know what the fuck a gold star's supposed to mean, but bring it here, kid!" Holly says with a grin, and Latisha dashes out into the hall to grab it from her backpack.

Latisha shows off her test while Allison starts making the sauce for the chicken and then fries it in the frying pan, the wonderful smell of fried chicken filling up the entire kitchen.

"Chantille'll be so jealous," Latisha says, sounding a bit too gleeful about it while she blows on her plate, trying to make it cool down faster. Isaac can practically smell her salivating.

"Honey, Chantille works at Burger King. She needs fried food like I need to suck cock," Holly says, slicing off a piece chicken with the side of her fork. "Getting paid for something takes all the fun out of it, trust m-Ow, motherfucker, that's hot!"

Latisha giggles while Holly chugs water and Isaac turns to Allison, grinning. He stops when he sees her looking speculatively at Holly and realizes that she didn't know Holly was a whore. Which is kind of odd considering she's been here a week and a half and Holly ain't exactly shy about it.

"These taste different," Latisha says, but it doesn't sound like a complaint, just an observation.

"Well, we don't have flour, so I couldn't do the crust," Allison explains. She's not eating any, probably because it's unhealthy or some bullshit, but is instead is watching them eat with a small smile on her face. It's nice to see her smile. She's been doing it more often lately, or at least since she came.

"It's good though," Isaac says quickly, because it is, even if the chicken is juicer than he's used to and the sauce is kind of weird. He's pleased to see her smile widen a bit. "I'm sure Holly would think so too if she hadn't just burned her tastebuds off."

"'uck 'ou," Holly says, still sipping water.

"Mrs. Williams made the best fried chicken, though," Latisha says and Isaac and Holly go very still, meeting each other's gaze automatically. It's the first time Latisha's said anything about living in the Williams' house, at least to them. Latisha has seemed very normal, despite her initial shyness, but Isaac's privately been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Chantille has no idea how long her abuse went on, it could have been years, and in Isaac's experience that shit always comes back. He's a prime example. So, he's not sure if it's a good or bad sign that she's talking about her life in LA

Allison gives them a strange look, but Isaac shakes his head jerkily and she doesn't comment. Latisha finishes her chicken without any other bombshells and starts asking if they can go to the park.

"I can take you," Holly says, always eager to get out of the house, picking up her dishes and putting them in the sink. "You two want to come?"

As expected, Allison shakes her head, seeming to curl into herself at the thought of leaving the house.

"Nah, I got work in a couple hours. I think I'll stay in."

"But just when it finally got nice," Holly wheedles, looking rather ridiculous in Chantille's too small clothes. Chantille and Latisha are the only ones dressed normally in this house, Isaac thinks. Chantille had brought a lot of her clothes with her and they'd bought new ones for Latisha, but Isaac's wardrobe is strictly jeans and cheap men's undershirts, Holly has been wearing Chantille's clothes, and Allison does as well. Today she's wearing Isaac's dark blue hoodie and a pair of Chantille's jean shorts that don't exactly hide the fact she hasn't shaved her legs in a while, while Holly is practically bursting out of Chantille's black tanktop.

"How about you?" Holly says, turning her gaze on Allison, who has started to wash the dishes. "No offense, but you could use some sunlight. You look all zombie and shit."

Allison drops a plate and Isaac has to fight very hard to keep a straight face.

"No, thank you," she says softly, after a few seconds, shoulders relaxing, but she doesn't turn around to look at them.

"Your loss," Holly says with a shrug and goes to the door with Latisha, putting on a pair of Chantille's cheap flip flops.

"Be back before dark!" Isaac calls, clearing his and Latisha's places.

"Or what?" Holly retorts, and Isaac doesn't have to be a werewolf to know she's rolling her eyes at him. "This ain't Crenshaw. No one's going to get shot!"

No, it's Beacon Hills, Isaac thinks, you'll just get ritual sacrificed.

"Just do it!" he says harshly and hears Holly sigh.

"Fine," she groans and slams the door behind her childishly.

Isaac turns to smirk at Allison.

"Shut up," she tells him, not even looking at him. "It's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

Allison looks up at him as he brings over the dishes and rolls her eyes.

Isaac stand next to her at the sink for a few seconds, washing her scrub the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, trying to choose his next words carefully.

"What?" she says finally, looking up at him while she works on lathering up a fork.

"Just...Scott, Stiles, and Malia weren't in school today," Isaac says, watching her face carefully. "Lydia was, but she looked nervous as a mothe-really nervous. Checking her phone all day."

Allison doesn't respond right away and puts the last of the dishes in the dishwasher before turning off the sink.

"You think it has something to do with..." she starts, voice very quiet.

"Maybe?" Isaac says, shrugging. "I mean, those witches, the ones who brought you back, they been killing people around town for a while now, and Scott seems like he'd be interested in stopping them or whatever."

"How many people have they killed?" Allison asks quietly, still staring down at the sink.

"Four, I think," Isaac says, already wondering if it was a bad idea to tell her. "Stiles said they were "ritual murders.""

Allison snorts with a surprised laugh that quickly turns into something a lot more desperate. "Of course," she says, under her breath. "Why am I not surprised?"

Isaac frowns at her, watching her fight to control her expression.

"Allison," he says carefully. "Why don't you want them to know you're alive?"

Allison stands up straight, glaring ahead of her before turning around. "I just don't," she says, without emotion and heads out of the kitchen and up the stairs. After a minute Isaac hears the shower start and he sighs, taking small comfort in the fact that she didn't go back to staring at nothing on the couch.

Isaac doesn't really understand Allison.

Scott and Malia are back the next day, but Isaac doesn't see Stiles. He watches them carefully throughout the day and tries to eavesdrop on their conversations when he can. Scott and Malia look exhausted; Malia even gets in trouble in Econ for falling asleep. They both have this sort of world-weary way they carry themselves and Lydia looks like she's a broken nail away from a full blown panic attack. Malia actually growls at someone who bumps into her in the hallway and Scott nearly jumps a foot in the air when someone accidentally drops the high jump equipment on the floor with a loud clang during Gym.

"-ut what could they want with Stiles?" Lydia hisses, during lunch, from where they all sit in one of the isolated tables in the back. Isaac picks at his free lunch (Some greasy white fish with a side of mashed potatoes. Allison's cooking is so much better, maybe Isaac should start bringing leftovers for lunch.) from across the room and hopes they don't notice him behind the crowd of freshman at the table in front of him. "I thought Deaton said they were going after people randomly."

"Apparently not anymore," Malia says darkly, stabbing at her fish with more force than is probably necessary. "They specifically wanted him. If Scott and I hadn't been at his house yesterday..."

Had Stiles been kidnapped by the witches? Isaac wonders. Is that what happened?

"They didn't say anything about what they wanted him for?" Lydia says, tapping her nails against the side of her tray nervously.

"No," Scott says tightly, almost like he's in pain. "The leader, her name's Margret, I think, she just said she needed to "borrow" him."

"And I think we all know what that means," Malia says bitterly, her heart pounding wildly and she takes a deep breath to calm herself before continuing. Is she Stiles's girlfriend? She seems way out of his league, but Beacon Hills is a crazy town.

"And don't forget she said she'd be coming back for Scott later," Malia continues and Scott's heart jumps.

"What?" Lydia says, sounding furious. "You didn't tell me that!"

"Look, I don't know what she wants from us, but it's not going to happen," Scott says firmly. "She's not going to get any of us, I promise."

"How can you say that?" Lydia hisses. "How can you even be sure he's safe now? They've attacked people in semi-public places before. How do you know they won't go after Stiles at the hospital? Not to mention that place is a complete deathtrap!"

"What?" Malia says, sounding confused. "What's wrong with the hospital?"

"Nothing," Scott snaps, sounding irritated. "It's not a deathtrap! My mother works there!"

"It's a deathtrap," Lydia insists, her voice going high-pitched and panicked. "Every time we have gone there in the past year we've almost all been killed. _Every time_."

Note to self, Isaac thinks, don't go to the hospital in Beacon Hills. You will probably die.

"Lydia, the one time they did something in public they got caught-" _Yeah_, they did, Isaac thinks a little smugly. "-which is why every other time they've gone after people who were alone at night. Stiles's dad has been there since he was brought in and he's being discharged in a few hours anyway. He's going to be fine, okay?" Scott says, painfully earnest. Isaac wonders if he ever gets tired of being such a fucking hero.

Then they start talking about human sacrifices and possible ways to stop the witches, each more ridiculous than the last and Isaac starts wondering when they decided to get into the supernatural cop business. Were they bored one day, ran out of beer and rich kid parties to go to, and just decided, let's fight evil? Or maybe they watched too many dumb TV shows and mistook them for real life. You'd think that after Allison died they would have learned their lesson, he thinks scornfully. But it appeared they were too stupid for that and the witches were after them now.

Isaac tells Allison what he overheard after school and she doesn't take it well. Her face gets that blank, closed-off look she wore during the couple days she refused to leave Isaac's couch and her shoulders get stiff and tense.

"So they're after everyone else now," she murmurs, sitting down on his bed and idly straightening the pillow.

Isaac throws her a pair of his white socks from his dresser and she catches them without looking up and unrolls them slowly before pulling them on.

"How are your feet doing, by the way," Isaac says, looking down at them. He doesn't think she's been wincing as much when she walks the past few days. He knows she sometimes gets out of bed in the middle of the night and paces around the house.

"Fine," Allison says, wriggling her sock-covered feet at him experimentally. "Still a bit sore, though."

The socks are too big on her, and along with his hoodie and Chantille's black skirt, she looks sort of like a little girl playing dress up. It's kind of adorable and Isaac can't help smirk at the way the socks sag down her skinny ankles.

"Stop laughing," Allison says, scowling. "Are these really the only socks you have?"

"Yup," Isaac lies, because he's a dick like that.

Allison gives him a skeptical look and then swings her legs up onto the bed, her head collapsing against the pillow. Isaac can tell by the look on her face that she's back to thinking about the witches.

"Do you know _why_ they brought you back?" he asks carefully, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"No," Allison says to the ceiling, voice flat. "It doesn't really make sense, does it? I mean, I died months ago. And I was human. Nothing special. But they clearly wanted me for something. I just can't think of _what_."

She doesn't seem to want to talk about it anymore after that, and Isaac goes to work after a couple hours. When he gets back, Chantille is still awake, sitting at the kitchen table reading one of her Harry Potter books.

"Hey," Isaac says, exhausted and sits down across from her. "You're up late."

Well, not really, but usually Chantille goes to bed at the same time as Latisha.

"There's leftovers in the fridge," Chantille says, turning a page. "Allison made another weird Mexican dish."

"I'm okay, I had a slice of pizza at the gas station," Isaac says, resting his head on his arms on the tabletop. Maybe he'll bring it for lunch tomorrow, though.

"Allison's in your bed," Chantille says casually and Isaac opens his eyes, looking down at the table in irritation.

He sits up, scratching his head, and shrugs his shoulders. "So?"

Chantille raises her eyebrows. "Are you fucking her?" she asks baldly, putting the book down. "Because, Isaac, she won't even leave the house, so I don't think tha-"

"I'm not fucking her, _Jesus_," Isaac says, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Chantille, because, seriously, who does she take him for? Like he could fuck anyone without accidentally ripping their throat out. Not that Chantille knows that.

"But she's sleeping in your bed," Chantille states, giving him an odd look.

"The couch was uncomfortable," Isaac says, feeling uncomfortable himself now. "Chantille, it's not like that, I swear." Because it's the truth. It is so, so not like that.

"Okay, I believe you," Chantille says holding her hands up defensively and pauses for a moment, looking at him carefully. "She must really trust you."

"Yeah," Isaac nods, face impassive, but feeling a little glow of pride at her words. He likes that Allison trusts him, just how he likes that Chantille, Latisha, and even Holly trust him. It's nice to be trusted. He doesn't want to be the kind of guy that women or kids feel unsafe around.

"You have any idea how long she's going to be here, though?" Chantille asks and Isaac feels his chest grow cold. "I mean, I like her, she's a hell of a cook, so I don't care if she stays, but you said she don't get along with her father, right? What if he comes looking for her?"

"He won't," Isaac says, relieved that Chantille doesn't want her to leave. "Trust me on that."

"Okay," Chantille says, taking his word as easily as always.

"So you okay with her staying here?" Isaac asks, pushing his luck as usual.

Chantille looks surprised that he's even asking. "Why not? It's your house. And she cool. I mean, she's got major issues and whatever, but we all do, so I'd say she fits in well."

Isaac snorts at that and Chantille smiles at him before returning to her book. Isaac does homework for a bit and then goes upstairs. He slips into bed beside Allison, careful not to jostle her and rolls onto his side, facing the wall.

"Isaac," Allison says softly, after a couple minutes.

"Mm?"

"I don't think things are going to get better," she says, her voice empty.

Isaac opens his eyes and stares at the wall. It takes him a long time to fall asleep that night.

* * *

Stiles returns to school the next day with his arm in a sling and that night a storm of epic proportions hits Beacon Hills. Isaac's boss calls just as he is about to go into work saying that the wind knocked over their sign and it's too dangerous to go out and fix it, so Mr. Park is closing the gas station for the night. Isaac goes to pick up Chantille at the end of her shift because he doesn't want her biking in the rain and on the way there and back he nearly crashes three times, buffeted off course by the wind.

"Shit, I hope we don't lose power!" Chantille yells as they run into the house, already soaked, and Isaac shuts the door behind them, peeling off his wet jacket and brushing water out of his hair.

So of course they lose power five minutes later, just as Allison was cutting up onions for the meatloaf she was planning on making.

"Well, that's it for that," she sighs and puts everything back in the fridge. Then she frowns and stands on her tiptoes to look out the kitchen window. "Hey, your neighbors still have power. Maybe a fuse just blew."

"Does it mean we can turn it on again?" Holly says hopefully, clearly disappointed about the possibility of no meatloaf.

"The fuse box is probably in the basement." Allison says, washing off her hands. "You just reset it. It can't hurt to try."

"No," Isaac says loudly, too loudly. "No going in the basement."

Both Holly and Allison turn to stare at him.

"Yeah, what's up with that, it can't be that gross down there," Holly says, looking at him in confusion.

"Just," Isaac says, trying not to freak out. "You can't go down there."

"Why not?" Allison asks, mirroring Holly's expression.

Isaac feels his face begin to heat up, his hands to sweat. It's suddenly hard to get air into his lungs. They can't go down there. They'll _see_, just like the cops had, and Isaac can't have them knowing. Chantille can probably guess why he ended up in the system, but she doesn't know for sure, and she sure as hell doesn't know the specifics. And there is nothing short of a gun to his head that would make him go down there himself. Maybe not even then.

"Isaac," Allison says softly, and Isaac can tell by her expression that he's not hiding his panic very well. He's always hated that about himself- his inability to hide his emotions. His face has always been an open book.

"Just, it's the storm," he says, feeling sick, like he might actually throw up right here, right in the middle of the kitchen. "When it's over, the power will come back on. We don't have to-we don't have to do anything."

Holly stares at him incredulously from her seat next to Latisha "What's in the basemen-"

"Nothing," Chantille snaps, standing up and glaring at Allison and Holly. "No one's going in the basement, you hear? End of story."

She catches Isaac's eye and he tries to convey to her with a look how grateful he is. Chantille always has his back, even if her methods are sometimes a little misguided. Allison and Holly still look bewildered and Isaac thanks any god listening for the huge flash of lightening and crash of thunder that follows, causing all of them to jump.

Latisha lets out a sob and practically jumps into Chantille's arms, hiding her face in her neck.

"Okay, okay, baby," Chantille says, picking her up and holding her in her lap. "It's okay, it's just a storm, it'll be over soon."

"It fucking better," Holly says, looking mournfully at the fridge.

"You could stand to skip a few meals anyway," Isaac says viciously, heart still pounding, wanting to _hurt_ her, for her to feel as off-balance as he does.

"Fuck you," Holly says, irritated, but not particularly bothered.

"Enough," Chantille says, giving Isaac a sharp look. "Sit down."

Isaac can't. He has too much nervous energy. He wants to run, to hit someone, but he can't do either.

"Do you have any flashlights?" Allison asks carefully, looking between Holly, Isaac, and Chantille warily. "Or candles."

It takes him a second to realize she's addressing him. "Uh, no, I don't think so."

"So we'll just sit in the dark then, great," Holly complains, leaning back against the back of her chair.

"We can play a game," Chantille says quickly, cutting off his savage retort, but before she can suggest anything another flash of lightning fills up the room and the crash of thunder follows it is so loud, Isaac claps his hands over his ears in pain.

Then, something small, like a pebble, hits the roof. Then another. And another.

"What the fuck?" Chantille says and they all look out the window to see small balls of ice raining down from the sky.

"Hail," Allison whispers and another flash of lightening tears open the sky, illuminating her pale face, her dark eyes wide open with wonder. No. Not quite wonder, it's something else, something far less joyful. Her eyes meet his and she opens her mouth, but her words are drowned out by the thunder that follows.

"What did you say?" Isaac says, when it's over, rubbing his tender ears. Latisha's quietly sobbing while Chantille rocks her back and forth and Holly is looking around the house skeptically like she's wondering if it's going to fall down around them.

"I said this isn't natural," Allison says, quiet enough so that only his werewolf ears can hear her. She closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them she looks like a different person. The kind of person who goes into battle against demons.

Isaac knows what she's going to say before she even opens her mouth.

"Are you crazy?" he hisses, trying to keep his voice down, but it's difficult because she is fucking _insane_. "You want to go out in _this_?"

"I have to," she replies calmly, like nothing he says could ever convince her otherwise. "I have to finish this. They brought me back and now they're going after my friends. I can't stay out of this anymore."

"Where are you even going to go?"

"The Nemeton," Allison says without a hitch, and Isaac's heard that name before and it tickles at the back of his memory. "That's where they brought me back. And that's where they'll be tonight."

Isaac opens his mouth to demand how she thinks she's going to get all the way back to the forest preserve in this weather, when Chantille stands, taking Latisha with her.

"Hey, we going upstairs," Chantille says ruefully, adjusting Latisha so she's wrapped her legs around Chantille's waist, arms around her neck.

"Okay," Isaac says automatically and she goes out into the hallway, leaving Holly sitting at the kitchen table, looking up at them with an unimpressed expression.

"Right," she drawls, getting up as well. "I guess I'll head up too. No point in staying down here if the power ain't coming on any time soon."

She grabs a box of Oreos from the pantry before she goes, but Isaac is too preoccupied by Allison's insanity to yell at her about taking food out of the kitchen.

"You can't stop me," Allison says calmly, as Holly climbs the stairs.

"Let me get this straight," Isaac says, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. "You're going back to the woods, in this weather, and then what?"

"Stop them."

"How?" Isaac demands. "You're not a...you don't even have a weapon! These witches are _dangerous_, belie-"

Allison turns toward the kitchen drawer two down from the fridge, where she's been putting the kitchen knife he just bought for her.

"You have got to be fucking kidding."

"It's not like you're going to use it anyway," Allison says with a hint of a grin and opens the drawer, taking out the knife and unsheathing it from its plastic cover.

Another flash of lightening and crash of thunder put a halt on their conversation briefly, but it's enough for Isaac to make up his mind. He hates himself a bit for how easy it is. He doesn't have to be involved in this. He _shouldn't _get involved in this, not after that witch almost killed him, would have succeeded if not for Scott McCall's hero complex. But there is no way he's letting her go out there to face them alone with just a kitchen knife.

"You're not going alone," he says flatly, trying to appear just as immovable as she is.

Allison raises an eyebrow. "I can take care of myself," she says coolly.

"Okay, I don't think you get to say that when you've _died_ before."

Allison scowls and Isaac raises his eyebrows, not backing down an inch.

"How are you even going to get there? You don't even have shoes."

As if to illustrate his point, it starts to hail harder.

"Fine," Allison says, clearly unhappy with the idea. "Let's go then."

"Not with that," Isaac says, pointing at the knife. "I've got something better."

He goes into the closet in the front hallway and pushes dust-covered boxes of family photo albums and other useless things aside, pointedly not looking at the dent in the plaster near the back center. It's from his head. When he finds what he's looking for, he returns to the kitchen and hands Allison the .22 he'd confiscated from Holly. Then he goes to the pantry, reaching up to the shelf that only he can reach and tosses her the box of bullets that goes with it.

Allison pulls out the gun from the brown paper bag he'd stuffed it in and turns to him with raised eyebrows. "A .22?"

"Hey, it's not mine, it's Holly's. Do you know how to-" She takes out a couple bullets and begins loading them into the cylinder.

Right. Her dad sells guns.

"You ready?" she says, looking up at him impatiently, sticking the box of bullets and the gun into the front pocket of his hoodie.

Oh, this is so not going to end well, Isaac thinks, but follows her out into the storm.

The road conditions are horrible and it's only because of Isaac's werewolf reflexes and sheer luck that he doesn't drive into a ditch. The hail and wind barrage his car, seemingly in every direction, but at least the hail doesn't seem to be getting any larger. He's heard stories about golf ball sized hail and he doesn't think his car could make it through that in one piece.

"Here, stop here," Allison says finally, speaking for the first time since they got in the car, where she'd been sitting quietly in the passenger seat, back ramrod straight.

Isaac eases down on the brakes and goes a bit off the road, parking next to a pair of large trees. "Are you sure?" he asks over the sound of hail and wind, looking out the window at the dark forest. It all looks the same to him.

"Believe me, some things you never forget," Allison says and is out of the car in seconds, striding into the forest without another word.

"Shit," Isaac says and scrambles to follow her, wincing as the hail and wind hit his body. He pulls up his scarf over his nose and sprints to catch up with Allison. She must be even colder than he is with her legs bare and no shoes; Chantille's are too small and Holly's are possibly the worst shoes to go looking for witches in the forest in, but besides her tucking her hands the front pocket of his hoodie, Allison doesn't appear to be affected by the cold. Her face is set with determination and she walks through the wind as if she doesn't notice it at all. They walk for about two minutes before they reach a small creek and Isaac winces as Allison walks through it without concern for her feet, reaching the other side and then-

Everything is still. There is no hail, no wind, no sounds of the water behind them or sounds of animals or insects. Everything is silent. Isaac turns around to see where they came from and is shocked to see the storm still raging on the other side of the creek, completely silent. He reaches out tentatively and gasps as he feels the wind and hail on his hand when he reaches over the water's edge.

"What the fuck?" he says, wondering when his life turned into a movie.

He turns around to ask what Allison makes of it, but she's still walking forward, probably never stopped, and he has to run to catch up with her again.

"Allison, wait!"

She doesn't answer, just keeps walking quickly ahead.

"Allison, I hear something!" he hisses.

This gets her attention and she stops to look at him seriously.

It's the witches, no doubt. Isaac thinks he recognizes the leader's voice, the one who stabbed him, and she's saying something about partial sacrifices and harvesting the Nemeton, congratulatory, victorious words to her minions, or whatever. But there's a familiar smell, something that makes Isaac think of school and that annoying perfume that some girls like to wea-

"Allison, they've got them," Isaac says when it dawns on him, feeling chills go down his spine even though it's quite warm now. "They have your friends."

He just barely sees the horror rise in her eyes before she's whipping around and running towards the sound of the voices and Isaac follows, trying not to think of the bloodbath that is awaiting them.

Allison stops at a clearing and Isaac follows suit, eyes widening as he takes in the scene before them.

There is a huge stump in the middle of the clearing, covered in small green shoots, like a miniature forest rising up from the grave of the old. The witches are standing to the left of where Allison and Isaac are frozen in the shelter of trees, standing in front of the stump triumphantly. Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Malia, and a gray-haired man Isaac doesn't recognize are sprawled at their feet. Scott and Malia are tied up with some rope that has purple flowers sticking out of it and they look half-conscious and lethargic. Stiles is tied up with regular rope as is Lydia, still wearing the sling, but she's gagged where he is not. The man isn't tied up at all, but he's been badly beaten and by the looks of the ground around him, he was dragged out of the forest.

"-really, splendid work," their leader is saying, sounding thrilled. "In one fell swoop, we've eliminated the enemy and found ourselves some _real_ sacrifices. _This_ is teamwork."

She smiles winningly at the woman with a bun in her hair. "Great work, Debra. Excellent plan!"

'Debra' looks a bit embarrassed by her praise, but nods shortly in acknowledgment, like a soldier would.

"Now, all we have to do is find the third one and we'll finally get some real power," the leader says greedily, crouching down to touch the tree stump reverently, as if it's something sacred.

"Are you going to kill us, or are you just going to congratulate each other?" Stiles spits, struggling against his bonds and Isaac is shocked at his ability to use sarcasm in such a dire situation.

"Oh, we're definitely going to kill you," the Chinese man says, clearly relishing the idea. "But first we'll get rid of your annoying friends first."

He looks for the woman with the gray braid's approval first, smiling when she nods. "Yes, yes, go ahead," she says easily, as if they're talking about who should go through the door first, not murdering people. "Leave the banshee alive, though. She could be useful."

Lydia makes a horrible noise that's muffled by the gag and squirms helplessly against the ropes holding her in place, tears dripping down her face.

"No!" Scott says with difficultly, clearly incapacitated somehow to the point where he's having trouble speaking. "You don't...you don't kill them. You have..you can have me. Just...please...let the others go..."

"Scott, don't-" Stiles gasps, tears in his eyes and the older man says: "Scott, it's okay, you don't have to-"

"Shut up!" Scott forces out, his face screwed up with the effort to keep talking and Isaac feels a horrible tightness in his chest. "I said...you can have me, but don't...you dare hurt anyone else."

The blonde woman and the short balding man laugh and even the leader breaks a smile. She says something about being touched then, but Isaac's not listening, his eyes fixed on Scott, heart pounding in his ears, because he wasn't lying, he was really willing to-

Isaac doesn't realize what Allison's about to do before it's too late. He turns, sees her raise her hands and hears the gunshot before he can make the connection.

Allison does not miss. Her bullet finds its mark in the middle of the leader's forehead and Isaac barely has time to process what this means before she drops to the ground, dead on impact.

There is a shocked silence as everyone stares at the body, Isaac's mouth falling open as he realizes that Allison just killed-

But Allison does not wait for him or anyone else to catch up. She walks into the clearing like a conquering army, hair still flecked with ice particles streaming behind her like a banner, gun held aloft.

The blonde woman screams, falling to her knees beside the leader, desperately shaking her dead body, begging her to wake up. The others don't seem to realize what has happened until Allison rounds the stump, gun pointed at them.

"Don't move!" Allison shouts and it shakes Isaac out of his shock, galvanizing him into action. He sees the balding man panic, trying to run, so Isaac bursts into the clearing, punching the man in the face and then grabbing his arm and snapping it when he's on the ground.

"She said nobody fucking move," Isaac snarls, over the man's sobs of pain and kicks him in the ribs for good measure. He hears movement behind him, but before he can turn around there's another gunshot and he makes it just in time to see the woman with the bun fall, the bullet buried deep in her leg.

"Get on the ground!" Allison yells at the Chinese man and he raises his hands, but doesn't seem to comprehend the request.

"Are you fucking deaf?" Isaac snarls, stalking towards him. The Chinese man tries to pull something out of his leather jacket, but Isaac is too fast for him and has him on the ground in seconds, kicking him in the stomach so hard he spits out blood. A purple crystal rolls out of his jacket-what he was reaching for?-and Isaac crushes it with his heel, relishing the man's moan of despair.

"Finished yet?!" Allison asks furiously, turning the gun on the blonde woman, still holding on to their leader's body. Allison's face is barely recognizable she's so angry. Her face is still wet from the weather, and she should look ridiculous in her too large clothes, with no shoes, only his white socks that are stained with mud from the forest ground and unshaven legs, but instead she's terrifying. Her rage is all-consuming and Isaac is shocked to realize how dangerous she is, how little of an idea he has of what she is going to do.

"Here is what's going to happen," Allison continues, her focus razor sharp, but Isaac can see her hands shaking. "You are going to tell me what you did to me, or I'm going to kill you all, right here and now."

Isaac does not doubt her words for a second.

The witches just stare at her, too shocked to respond. So, Isaac grabs the blonde woman by the hair and slams her into the ground, bringing his foot down on her fingers and hears a satisfying crack along with her shriek of pain.

"That means talk, motherfuckers!" he says, feeling his claws begin to grow and fangs lengthen.

"We'll never tell you anything," the woman with the bun says, white lipped with pain as she clutches her leg.

"Oh, really?" Isaac says and backhands her in the face, bring his heel down on her wrist so hard she screams when it shatters. "How about now?"

"What did you do to me?" Allison repeats, shaking so badly Isaac isn't sure she could hit anything anymore.

"Allison," the older man whispers, but Allison ignores him, does not even glance in his direction.

Isaac kicks the balding man again. "Y'all motherfuckers need to understand that I can do this all night. I will fuck each and every one of you up and not get bored for _hours_." Isaac turns and punches the Chinese man in the nose, claws digging into his palms to ensure he won't lose control. The nose breaks and Isaac grabs him by the back of his jacket and hauls him upright. "But, and I don't know if you noticed this," he says, grabbing the man's bleeding face and forcing him to look at Allison, "she is pretty fucking pissed right now. She's got a gun and she liable to do all of y'all if you don't tell her what she wants to know."

"Go to hell," the man spits and Isaac slams his head back into the ground. The blonde lets out a horrible sob and Isaac grins as he turns to her. This is _fun_. It's like playing good cop-bad cop, but he gets to be the good cop _and_ beat the shit out of people.

Isaac kicks her in the stomach. "Talk!"

"Okay, okay," she sobs pathetically, and Isaac forces himself to remember that this woman slit another woman's throat in front of him.

Isaac glances up at Allison, as if to say _all yours_.

"Why did you bring me back?" Allison demands, pointing the gun at her head now.

"It-it wasn't us, it was just Mar-Margret," she says, large blue eyes filled with tears. She is really hot, Isaac thinks, even when she's crying. It's a criminal waste that she's a crazy murdering bitch. "She said that t-the reason the sacrifices weren't working was be-becaus-"

"Bethany, shut up!" the woman with the bun hisses, voice tight with pain and she flinches when Isaac turns to her.

"Bitch, if I have to come over there one more time, you're losing that leg."

"The sacrifices weren't working because what?" Allison demands, stepping closer to the blonde woman, leveling her gun at her forehead.

"Mar-Margret said...she found out that the-there were people who were only par-partially sacrificed to the Nem-Nemeton," the blonde says, in anguish, her face already beginning to swell up from where Isaac slammed her to the ground. "And one of the-them was y-you, but you were dead, s-so-"

"So you brought me back?!" Allison says with a horrible laugh, her eyes gone wide and crazed. "Just like that?"

"It was Margret," she sobs, her whole body shaking. "Please, it wasn't us. W-w couldn't...we don't have that kind of p-power. It was her idea, all of it."

"So what happens now?" Allison snarls, turning to look at all of them. "I've killed your Margret. Is this permanent?" she says, gesturing at her body. "Am I even human anymore?" The blonde just continues to cry, burying her face in her hands. "Huh? Answer me!" Allison says and pistol-whips her.

"Allison," Scott chokes out and Isaac turns to look at him. Shit, he forgot they were even there.

Scott, Lydia, and the gray-haired man (shit, was _he_ her father?) have tears pouring down their cheeks, Lydia making soft sobbing noises behind the gag. Stiles's eyes are wet too and Malia is just staring at Allison like she has two heads.

Allison ignores him and then turns the gun on the balding man. "You. Answer me!"

"I would do what she says if I were you," Isaac says casually, stepping on his broken arm with just the right amount of force to make him squirm.

"Leave him alone, mutt!" the Chinese man says, blood running down his face as he struggles to get to his feet. "Haven't you done enough?"

Isaac laughs and stalks over to him, grabbing him by the hair and raking his claws down the man's chest.

"Haven't I done enough?" Isaac repeats curiously as he screams and struggles futilely in Isaac's grip. "Man, I don't think you understand that I straight up don't give a fuck. I'm only here because I didn't feel like doing homework. Though I might be a little bitter about the time y'all stabbed me with a sword and. Left. Me. For. Dead." He punctuates each word by digging his claws into the man's side.

He feels Allison stare on him and belatedly realizes he didn't tell her about his encounter with the witches.

"George," the blonde woman sobs. "Please, don't, please don't kill him. Please, please..."

"Stop," the man with thinning hair gasps for breath. "Please. We...you're human. You had to be human for the spell to work."

Isaac drops the Chinese man on the ground and breathes a small sigh of relief. But his relief is not mirrored in Allison's face.

"But is it permanent?" Allison asks, shaking like mad. "Now that I've killed her, will I...will I just fade away? Will I rot?"

Her voice is anguished and Isaac feels the bottom of his stomach drop out as he realizes the meaning of her words. This is why she wouldn't see her friends or family again. She thought she would only be alive temporarily.

"Allison," her father says again, pleading, but Allison still refuses to look at them.

This just stopped being fun, Isaac thinks furiously and kicks the man in the ribs again, smirking when he hears them crack. "Talk if you want to live, motherfucker!"

"Leave him alone," the woman with the bun screams, finally losing her composure. "It's permanent, it had to be permanent for the spell to work, believe me!"

"_Believe you_?" Allison snarls, stalking toward her and kicking her in her injured leg. "Why the _fuck_ should I believe you?"

Holy _shit_, Allison just swore. Like most of the people in this town, Allison _never_ swears. Isaac is a horrible influence.

"Uh, Allison," Isaac says.

"Shut up, Isaac!" she shouts and kicks the woman again. "Now, tell me the truth!"

"It is the truth!" the woman responds hysterically, scrambling backwards away from Allison as fast as she can with her injured leg. "It wouldn't have worked if we hadn't-"

"Allison!" Scott cries weakly, trying to struggle unsuccessfully to his feet.

"Don't let me stop you," Isaac says, looking unsympathetically down at the witches. "But she is telling the truth, you know."

Allison freezes and turns towards him, a shockingly vulnerable look on her face in contrast to her previous expression.

"Really?" she whispers and looks very small all of the sudden, like a little girl playing dress-up again.

"Uh, yeah," Isaac says, not really sure what to make of her change in demeanor.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her dark eyes wide.

Isaac turns back to the woman and gives her a expectant look. "Say it again," he orders.

"It's permanent!" the woman with the bun says, shaking with fear. "You won't die or...or rot! You're human!"

She's too terrified to be lying well enough to fool him, so he gives Allison a short nod.

"Oh," Allison says, blinking in surprise and sinks to her knees, shoulders slumping. She looks like she doesn't quite know what to do, starting blankly ahead of her.

"Allison," her father gasps, painfully pushing himself into a seated position. Blood is dripping from his mouth and the way he holds his side makes Isaac think his ribs are broken.

Allison blinks in confusion and turns to look at her friends and father for the first time. She looks at them as if she barely recognizes them and frowns, as if they weren't what she was expecting.

"Allison," Scott sobs, straining weakly against ropes. "Allison, please."

It's strange seeing him so helpless. Isaac doesn't quite want to look at him, out of second-hand embarrassment.

But Allison turns away from them, looking back at the fallen witches. Her face goes hard with contempt and Isaac is very thankful he's not on the receiving end of that look.

"Get out," she tells the witches, voice as cold as ice, even though her body is still limp, legs still folded under her as she sits in the dirt. "I ever see any of you again, I'll kill you all."

The witches stare at her in horror, the blonde one still sobbing quietly over their leader's body.

"What, you want a fucking engraved invitation?" Isaac yells, kicking the balding man in the legs and brandishing his claws at them. "Move! Or I'll do more than just break a few bones."

They shakily get to their feet, the Chinese man helping the woman with the bun to stand, while the balding man pulls the sobbing blonde woman away from their leader's body.

"Go on now!" Isaac says viciously, enjoying when they flinch at his words and stagger out of the clearing and back into the woods.

Is it over? Isaac thinks disbelievingly, listening to the sounds of them fleeing getting farther and farther away. But before he can ask Allison, the gray-haired man manages to stumble to his feet.

"Allison," he says desperately, his face streaked with tears and Isaac shifts uncomfortably at the naked emotion on his face. "Are you-"

"Stay away!" Allison says, dropping the gun and flinging out her hands to hold him off, turning her face away from them. "Don't...don't come near me!"

She stares down at the ground in desperation and then brings up her hands to clutch her hair.

"I can't," she whispers, shaking and ducking her head down further. "I can't, I can't..."

"Allison," her father says again, taking a tentative step towards her and Isaac growls a little without thinking about it. He doesn't exactly know what's going on here, but he's not going to let her father near her if she doesn't want him to be.

"Dad, just don't-" Allison says, still refusing to look him, her heartbeat wild and quick. "Don't look at me, just...just please don't look at me."

Allison's dad stops short, his bruised face one horrible mess of concern and hope, and Isaac doesn't want to be here anymore. This is really awkward; he doesn't know any of these people and they're all crying and shit. But he has to stay for Allison. He doesn't know why she's afraid of them, it might just be because they're all crying over her (God knows Isaac wouldn't want anyone sobbing over him like this) or it might be something more.

A gust of wind rolls through the clearing, normal wind, breaking the eerie silence. Hopefully that means the storm is over. Isaac was kind of worrying about leaving his car outside in the hail. Allison's breath evens out, her shoulders stop heaving in panic, but she still won't look up at them.

Eventually she gets to her feet, wiping off Chantille's skirt with both hands and rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of his dark blue hoodie.

Allison's father opens his mouth again, but before he can say anything, Malia keels over, twitching on the ground.

"Malia!" Stiles says, panicked, trying to squirm over to her. "Hey, Malia! Chris!"

Allison's dad turns away from Allison with surprising speed and limps over to Malia, taking a knife out of his boot and cutting away the flower rope. Malia gasps for breath, like she's having an asthma attack. He cuts Stiles's bonds too and Stiles practically falls over trying to get to Malia's side.

"Hey, Malia, you okay? Malia!" Stiles says, while Chris frees Scott and Lydia, pulling the gag out of Lydia's mouth.

Malia vomits and groans, waving away Stiles's hand on her shoulder. "Ugh, m'fine, Stiles."

Scott and Lydia jump to their feet, Scott a little slower, and stare at Allison with wide, tear-filled eyes. Allison's dad turns back to look at her too and Isaac wishes there was someone he could punch again. He's gotten pretty good at punching people over the years, and while he still kind of hates Allison's friends, it's not like he can punch them. They're all sad and pathetic, and it's no fun punching people like that.

"What exactly is going on here?" Allison's father says, looking between Isaac and Allison, his voice tight with suppressed emotion.

Allison frowns, obviously not understanding what he means since he was a witness to the last ten minutes. "What?"

"This is the part where they blame this entire mess on me, accuse me of things I didn't do, and/or try to get me arrested," Isaac sighs, shaking his bloody hands in an attempt to get the dripping blood from his palms off them faster. God, he wishes he could leave right now.

Allison gives him a confused look and he shrugs helplessly in response.

"Allison, are you okay?" her dad asks quietly, which is possibly the stupidest question Isaac has ever heard in his life.

"Yes..." Allison says warily, looking as if she's waiting for him to take a step forward so she can take a step back.

"Will you," he says and then chokes, before clearing this throat. "Will you come with me now?"

Allison turns and gives him an incredibly confused look. "What did you _do_?"

"I moved here?" Isaac says, crossing his arms over his chest uncomfortably. "Fuck if I know."

"Allison," her father says urgently, completely ignoring Isaac's presence, staring at Allison intensely with his pale blue eyes. They don't really look alike. "We should go to Deaton's."

Allison flinches and turns away a little.

"Okay," she says quietly, and Isaac tells himself it's stupid to be sad at her response. What did he think she was going to say? Of course, she would go with her family and friends. It wasn't like she was going to live with him, Chantille, Latisha, and Holly forever. From the way she talked about her father, the way she talked about Scott, there was no way she would stay shut-up in his house.

"Right," Isaac says awkwardly, feeling as though he's talking to thin air as none of them so much as glance at him as he speaks. "I'll just, you know..." He makes a vague gesture in the general direction of his car.

This gets Allison's attention and she gives him such an utterly betrayed look that he freezes in his tracks.

"Or not?" he says.

"You're coming too," Allison orders, giving him a look that says she will accept no excuses.

"What?" Stiles blurts out from the ground, where he's still holding a green-looking Malia upright.

This results in the most fucking awkward car ride of Isaac's life. Allison refuses to let her father or any of her friends near her, so she makes him sit in the middle of the backseat of her dad's car, with her on his left and Scott on his right, Lydia in the passenger seat, Stiles and Malia following them in his stupid blue jeep. Scott and Lydia stare at Allison the entire time, Lydia letting out the occasional sob, and Allison's dad looks at her in the rear-view mirror so many times Isaac worries he's going to crash. Allison doesn't look at any of them, just leans her head against the window and looks out at the passing scenery.

They go to that same fucking animal clinic that Scott and Stiles brought him to in January. Stiles must have called the black vet on the way, because he's waiting for them at the door, staring at Allison incredulously as they crowd into the waiting area.

"Hello, Allison," the vet says quietly and Allison mutters a greeting back unintelligibly, crossing the too long sleeves of his hoodie over her chest, her muddy socked feet leaving dirty footprints on the tile floor.

Isaac isn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed when Allison doesn't ask him to come into the examining room with her dad and the vet, but then he's left with Scott, Stiles, Malia, and Lydia in the waiting room and they all turn around to stare at him the second Allison walks into the other room. Isaac looks longingly at the door, but surrenders himself to his fate and collapses into the chair next to a side table covered in magazines, examining his bloody hands for something to do. The blood's starting to dry and it's going to be a bitch getting out from under his nails.

"You," Lydia says to him furiously, her eye make-up blotchy from crying. "Talk. Now."

Isaac gives her an unimpressed look. "Fuck that shit," he says, dropping his hands and crossing his arms over his chest obstinately.

"How do you know Allison?" Scott demands, scrubbing his eyes furiously and Isaac tries not to stiffen up at his tone.

"Like most things, it is none of your fucking business," Isaac retorts and fully expects Scott to punch him, but he doesn't, just looks furious.

"Hey, that is our _friend_ in there-" Stiles starts, but stops when Lydia marches right up to Isaac, shaking in anger.

"Tell us what you know," she orders, in the tone of a spoiled rich girl who always gets whatever she wants. She's not exactly threatening either, even with her heels she's barely taller than him standing up while he's seated.

"Bitch, or what? You gonna stab me with one of those fuck-me heels or are you just gonna cry on m-"

Lydia slaps him, hard, and Isaac's on his feet before his cheek even stops stinging, adrenaline pumping through his veins at a furious pace.

Scott grabs him before he can do anything, pulling both arms behind his back and holding him in place, Stiles restraining Lydia from hitting him a second time.

"That's enough!" Scott snarls and Isaac tries not to panic at the way he's pressed up against him in his effort to restrain him.

"Get off me," he hisses, forcing himself to remember that Scott's hardly going to bend him over right here in front of everyone.

Scott shoves him against the wall, Isaac's knee colliding with the chair's armrest painfully.

"Tell us what happened!" Scott says loudly, crowding him in so that he has nowhere else to go, his eyes glowing blood red.

"Fuck y'all motherfuckers," Isaac grits out, pressing his shoulders against the wall as far as they can go, trying to keep as much distance between him and Scott as possible. "She want to tell you, it's her business. And unlike _some people_, I ain't no snitch."

"What kind of idiotic logic is that?" Stiles retorts scathingly. "And, Christ, are you serious with the "snitch" thing? You do realize you're the whitest person ever, don't you?"

Isaac opens his mouth to tell Stiles as colorfully as possible to go fuck himself, when the door to the examination room slams open and Allison comes hurdling out, stopping when she takes in the scene in front of her.

"What are you doing?" she says, voice high with hysteria and Isaac honestly can't say he knows which one of them she's talking to. "Stop that!"

"Allison!" Scott says, voice going weak with concern. He takes a step toward her, but Allison throws up her hands and ducks her head down to ward him off.

"No!" she shouts, turning away from him and making for the door. "No, I can't do this right now."

"Allison, wait!" Allison's father says, coming out of the examination room.

Allison stops before she reaches the door and turns back, reaching up to clutch her hair again.

"Allison, please," Lydia says tearfully, but Allison shakes her head, refusing to even look at her, pacing back and forth in front of them.

"Everybody, just shut up," she says, clearly panicking. "Just shut up, I have to think."

"I could give her a sedative," the vet mutters to Allison's father.

"No, you fucking won't!" Isaac says, furious at the thought of them drugging her.

"Shut up!" Allison says, eyes squeezed shut, her voice almost a wail. "Everyone just be quiet."

They fall silent per her request and Allison paces the room twice more before she sits down in one of the chairs across the room and brings her knees up to hide her head in them. Isaac can't really see anything from this angle, but he hopes to God that her skirt covers everything, because he's pretty sure she's not wearing any underwear.

"Isaac," she says, her voice muffled by her knees. "You can talk. Everyone else please be quiet."

The entire room sans Allison turns to look at him. Isaac feels himself flush.

"Ookay..." he says awkwardly, not really sure what to say. "You do realize you're kind of freaking everyone out, right?"

The vet gives him an appalled look and Allison appears to agree with him when she says: "Not. Helping."

"Okay...what do you want me to talk about?"

"Something other than the fact I came back from the dead and just shot a woman in the head," Allison gets out through gritted teeth.

"If it makes you feel better she was a serial killer."

Allison moans and everyone else in the room glares at him. Isaac scowls and slouches, almost sticking his hands in his pockets before he remembers that they're still covered in blood.

"Think on the bright side?" Isaac says, trying to be helpful. "At least you're not a zombie anymore."

Allison actually starts laughing at this and Stiles mouths "What is wrong with you?" at him, while Scott, Lydia, and Allison's father look very concerned. Malia is looking at them all like they're crazy.

"You are so bad at this," Allison says, when she's stopped laughing, and then her tone goes serious. "Also, I am a reanimated corpse. That is the definition of a zombie."

"You eat a lot of salad for a zombie," Isaac says before he can stop himself.

"Just because you have never eaten a green vegetable in your life..." Allison grumbles, still talking into her knees, her hair spilling out over the sides of her legs. "I'm surprised you don't have scurvy, considering all you eat is frozen burritos."

"Er, okay," Isaac says, feeling the bewildered stares of everyone in the room on him. "Why are we talking about this?"

"You brought it up, so now we are stuck with discussing your appalling eating habits," Allison says, and Isaac has no idea what is going on, but at least she sounds a lot less panicked.

"Okay," Scott says, looking between them in confusion. "What?"

"Yeah, she's sort of been sleeping on my couch for the last two weeks," Isaac says quickly, eager to clear up any misconceptions about their relationship.

"What?" Scott says, gaping at him.

"_Two weeks_," Allison's father says furiously and Isaac takes a step back automatically at his tone.

Allison raises her head, eyes still closed and leans her head back against the wall. "I didn't know if it was permanent," she says quietly and Isaac tries not to think about how afraid she must have been, wondering if she would start to rot at any moment.

"Allison," her father says and comes closer to her, kneeling in front of her and taking her hand in his. Isaac wonders if he should stop him, but Allison doesn't show any signs of wanting to get away. Instead, she opens her eyes and look blankly down at him.

"Dad," she whispers, pain flickering across her face. "Dad, I'm so sorry."

"Allison," her father chokes and gathers her up into his arms, tears spilling down his cheeks. "It's okay, I've got you."

"I'm so sorry," she repeats, tears in her voice. "Dad, I should've, I should've seen him coming, I should've been faster-"

"No, no, it's okay, it's okay," her father says shakily, stroking her hair gently. "You did good, you did good."

"I _died_," Allison sobs into his shoulder, clutching his arms, and God, Isaac would give anything to not be here right now. "And right after Mom...Dad, I'm so sorry!"

Scott and Lydia are crying again too and Malia is gripping Stiles's good hand very tightly while he shakes, his face suddenly very white. It is all extremely uncomfortable and Isaac wishes there was some way he could leave without it being incredibly obvious.

Fortunately, Allison's dad seems to realize this as well and after a couple minutes, he helps Allison to her feet and Scott and Lydia go with him to take her home. Isaac slips out after them, watching as they bundle Allison into her dad's car. She looks exhausted, but relieved at the same time, gripping her dad's shoulder tightly as he helps her into the front seat. She doesn't look at him, but Isaac can't help but be relieved at the lack of attention being paid to him as he turns down the road to make the long walk back to the forest preserve to get his car.

It's not even midnight yet, but it feels much later than that. It's hard to believe that all of that just happened in the span of a couple hours. That Allison had killed the leader of the witches and scared the rest of them off. And now she was back with her father.

The weather is nice, now that it isn't storming like mad anymore. There's still small pieces of hail on the ground, but they're melting fast and soon they will be completely gone, like they were never there at all. It takes him about an hour to walk back to his car. He could have gotten there way faster if he ran, but he doesn't mind the walk. It is quiet and peaceful. Gives him time to collect his thoughts.

Isaac opens the front door quietly, not wanting to wake anyone, kicking off his dirt-covered shoes. He puts the gun back in the front closet, belatedly realizing that Allison still had the box of bullets in the pocket of his hoodie. Shit, he liked that hoodie and Allison had also been wearing Chantille's t-shirt and skirt.

He tries to feel happy for Allison, that she'd gotten her dad and friends back, but going to sleep, listening to the sounds of Latisha and Chantille in Camden's room, and Holly in his parents', Isaac's bed feels empty.

He doesn't see Allison for another week and a half.

**A/N: TL;DR: Allison is a BAMF, Isaac enjoys beating the shit out of people more than is probably healthy (you know it's canon, don't lie), and everyone else is extremely confused. As you can probably imagine, I had way too much fun writing this chapter. Please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	14. Scott V

Scott is so nervous he can barely eat. He's sitting at the kitchen table, legs shaking while he stares at his cereal, breath coming fast and shallow. He can already tell there is no question as to whether he is going to school today, even though he has a Trig test. Or is it on Monday? He can't remember.

"Mom, I have to go," he says, when it becomes too much, pushing his bowl away from him. "I have to see her, I have to make sure she's okay."

"Honey, I know how you feel," his mother says, looking very nervously at him from across the table. "But I think you need to give her some time. She's with Chris now and from what you told me it sounds like she had...mixed feelings about seeing all of you last night."

That stings, but it's true, of course. Allison hadn't wanted to see them to the extent that she would rather stay with _Isaac Lahey_ for two weeks than let them know she was alive. Scott doesn't know if it's because she blames them for her death or because her resurrection had left her so traumatized she wanted to avoid her old life as much as possible. Neither option is very appealing.

"Yeah, you're right," Scott agrees, pulling his cereal bowl back to him and picking up his spoon listlessly.

But he can't stop thinking about her. Allison. Allison is _alive_, she's _back_, and Scott's entire body aches with the desire to see her, to hold her and feel her heart beating. He knows he can't, knows after last night she needs space and time, and besides, she has her dad. But long should he wait? A day? Two? Scott doesn't think he can wait that long. He couldn't sleep at all last night he was so jittery. He can't imagine having to stay away from her that long.

He manages to finish his breakfast, washing out his bowl in the sink and putting it in the dish rack. He leans against the kitchen sink, unsure what else to do. School has already started by now, but maybe he should go after all. It might take his mind off things.

"Scott, do you, do you want to do something?" his mother asks hesitantly, obviously thinking along the same lines. "My shift doesn't start until five, so we could..."

What? Go to the mall, see a movie? What could they possibly do that would distract Scott from the fact that Allison is _alive_, is out there somewhere, but he. Can't. See. Her.

Scott taps his fingers against the counter restlessly and stares up at the kitchen ceiling, trying to remember that Allison needs time. She doesn't need people crowding her right now. She had her Dad and Chris will make sure she's okay until she's ready to-

_"You have to tell my dad," Allison gasps, her lips coated with her own blood, "you have to tell my dad, tell him, yo-tel-"_

Scott feels like he's going to be sick, unsteady all of the sudden and grips the counter, his arms shaking weakly. He can't stop picturing it, remembering everything, the sight, the smell, the sounds of her taking her last breaths, her heart slowing down, her eyes going blank.

"Scott, are you okay?" his mother asks, getting up from her chair and coming to stand beside him, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"_It's okay. It's perfect. I'm in the arms of the first person I ever loved, the person I'll always love," Allison chokes, her breath coming in short gasps, heartbeat already slowing down "I love you, Scott, Scott McCall."_

Scott makes a horrible sound, a sob that gets stuck in his throat halfway thorough, and squeezes his eyes shut. Don't think about it, he tells himself, it's over, it's done. It doesn't matter. That's not how Allison's story ends. She's got a second chance now.

"Scott?" his mother says gently, rubbing his back. "Scott, it's going to be okay."

That's what you said after she died, Scott thinks, but doesn't say it out loud, of course, just breathes.

It's stupid, he doesn't know why he feels like this. Allison's _alive_, he should be happy. And he is. He just also feels like he's going to have an asthma attack or his chest is going to explode if he doesn't see her as soon as possible.

He thinks he might have said something like that to Stiles more than a year ago, when he and Allison had first started dating, but God, he had _not _meant it like this.

"I just," he says, trying not to panic. "I'm not sure what to do."

"Be patient," his mother advises and gives him a sad sort of smile. She reaches up and strokes his hair back, still rubbing his back with her other hand.

Out of habit, Scott reaches up to grip his left bicep, right over his tattoo, the one he got for Allison, and then lets his head fall forward, closing his eyes.

"She said she thought she was going to rot," he whispers, a lump in his throat threatening to choke him. Scott rubs at his eyes, determined not to start crying like last time. "For _two weeks_."

"She's going to need time," his mother says softly. "Maybe a lot of time. This isn't exactly charted territory here." She pauses a second. "Or maybe it is, I wouldn't know. But you have to be patient."

Scott thought he was a patient person, he really did, but now he was beginning to realize how little in his life he'd had to be patient for before. Giving her space after their breakup is _nothing_ compared to this.

"I can," Scott saying pushing himself off the counter, the urge to move too powerful to control. "I mean, I will. Just. I have to, I have to see her first."

"Scott," his mother says worriedly. "I'm not sure that's such a good id-"

"I'll just go over there and knock on her door," Scott says hurriedly, going out into the hall and putting on his shoes with difficulty, almost falling into the wall as he hops around on one foot.

"Scott, honey, you need to think about thi-"

"I just need to see her, Mom," Scott says, turning to her after he's finished getting his shoes on, his voice gone hoarse with suppressed emotion, feeling his eyes begin to water. "I just need to see her. If...if she doesn't want me there, I'll leave right away, I swear."

His mother bites her lip, but nods shortly and then comes forward to draw him into a hug.

"You be careful now," she says as she grips him tightly and Scott closes his eyes and loses himself for a second in her smell. "Don't scare her, you hear me?"

"I won't, Mom," Scott promises and she kisses his cheek as she draws back, her own eyes shining now too.

"See you later," Scott says and runs out.

He doesn't bother with his bike, just runs, werewolf speed allowing him to surpass cars on the road. It's probably an unwise use of his powers, but Scott doesn't care. What's the point of them anyway if he can't use them for this?

The whole way to Allison's apartment building, all Scott can think about is last night and the night Allison died. Like reruns in his head, Scott relives everything all over again. Allison's last words, her face as she stepped out into the clearing last night, the way she'd demanded answers from the witches and sobbed in Chris' arms.

But then other things pop up too. Her dancing at the winter formal last year, her kissing him for the first time in the boy's locker room after his first lacrosse game, her shooting arrows at the Alphas and saving them all. The way she looked when she smiled at him in the forest preserve when they played hooky. The pictures they'd taken at the ice rink, the one that Scott still kept in his desk drawer in his room. The way she'd touched his werewolf face, so very gently, after they'd killed Peter. The way she looked when they made love, all long hair and soft curves, sexy, enthusiastic, and somehow so very serious at the same time.

Scott remembers everything, everything he's spent the last five months trying to forget, the good and the bad. He remembers the things that didn't even happen; all his hopes and dreams that he tucked quietly away when it seemed like they wouldn't ever get back together and then buried with her when she died.

By the time Scott reaches Allison's door he's practically bursting with them, can barely restrain himself from kicking down the door instead of rapping his knuckles sharply against the white wood.

There's no response, so Scott knocks again, starting to panic, thinking maybe they'd gone, and then there is movement inside. The sound of a body rolling out of bed, footsteps down the hallway and then-

Allison pulls open the door. She looks very disheveled, her hair sticking up in odd directions and sleep gunk in the corners of her eyes. She's still wearing Isaac's hoodie, but she's put on a pair of checkered pajama bottoms with them, and it takes everything Scott has to not throw himself at her the second she pulls open the door.

Her beautiful brown eyes widen as she takes him in and Scott's heart leaps into his throat as he remembers his mother's words. Be patient. Don't scare her.

"Al-Allison," he says, only a little brokenly. "I-I just had to see you. I know...I know maybe you don't want to see me right now, and I'll leave if you want me to, but could you-" Scott's eyes are watering so badly he has to blink his tears away in order to see her properly. "Could you tell me if you're okay? I know that's a dumb question, but I couldn'-"

He barely sees her expression turn anguished before Allison throws herself into his arms. Scott's eyes go wide with surprise for a second before he's griping her so tightly it must hurt, but he can't seem to stop. He presses his face into her shoulder, shaking and inhaling her scent. She smells different, not exactly like he remembers, like different shampoo, different clothes, but it's her. It's _Allison_.

"Scott," she says tearfully, gripping handfuls of the back of his jacket, pressed so close to him it's like she wants to burrow her way inside him. "_Scott_."

"I love you," Scott sobs into her shoulder, reveling in the solidness of her in his arms, the feel of her heart beating, her lungs expanding and contracting.

He knows he should let go, should back off and give her space, be patient and careful like his mother told him to be, but he can't.

Scott doesn't let go and Allison doesn't either.

They stand there, in the hallway outside her apartment, for a long time.

* * *

Eventually they move to the living room couch, not letting go of each other even for a second. It's dark and dusty in the living room, the heavy curtains drawn to shut out the light and there are large dust bunnies on the floor. It doesn't look like it's been cleaned in a while. He and Allison curl up together on the couch, Allison's head pressed into his neck, his fingers in her hair, like they used to lie together back when they managed to steal some time to themselves last spring.

"I missed you so much," Scott whispers, unable to help himself, stroking her cheek.

"Me too," Allison says, and grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. She kisses the back of his hand and Scott's eyes close automatically at the sensation and stay closed. He's so tired and it feels so perfect, lying here with Allison. It's been a long 36 hours.

"Hey," Allison says, stroking his face lightly. He opens his eyes and sees her looking worried, raising her head over him, her hair falling down onto his chest in a wave of dark brown. "Are you okay? The witches last night, they didn't hurt you...?"

"No, I'm fine," Scott murmurs, smoothing his hand down her side. "Just tired. Didn't really sleep last night."

Allison smiles and leans in slowly, kissing his cheek, and a tear slides down his face to replace her mouth the second she pulls away.

"Oh, Scott," Allison whispers and rubs it away with her thumb. Scott closes his eyes again as she leans into to kiss his eyelids, her lips, leaving only the barest hint of pressure on his skin. "C'mere."

She shifts so that his head is pillowed on her chest, scratching her fingers lightly against his scalp. Scott nuzzles into her chest, inhaling her scent. It's a little strange, tinged with unfamiliar soap and shampoo, and something else, which, considering the owner of the hoodie, is probably Isaac, as weird as that is. But it's still her.

"Are you sniffing me?" she asks, amusement in her voice.

"No," Scott says and Allison laughs. It's such a nice sound.

"Sleep," she says, kissing his temple. "I'll be here when you wake up."

A little bolt of panic goes through him at the thought she might not be. The thought that this is all an elaborate dream, and she must feel him tense, because she reaches down to grab his hand again, squeezing it tight.

Scott dozes. He doesn't think he ever actually falls asleep, but he definitely drifts off for a while. Eventually, he rouses to the sound of quick footsteps in the hallway and someone entering the living room. Scott opens his eyes and blinks rapidly to see Chris come into focus. He's standing in the doorway wearing a robe and looking down at them with an air of resignation, though his heart is beating at a panicked rate.

"Hello, Scott," he says with a sigh.

"Er, hi, Mr. Argent," Scott says awkwardly, even though he hasn't called him that for months, raising his head off Allison's chest.

"Hi, Dad," Allison says, smiling at her father gently. Chris' face, which is still badly bruised, softens.

"Do you two want breakfast?" he asks and then looks at the clock on the mantle. "Or lunch?"

Which is how Scott ends up at Argent family meal number three. It's far less terrifying than the first two, but just about as awkward. It's the first time he's been in their new kitchen-Scott had never had much cause to spend any time at their new apartment even before Allison died- but he's fairly certain it wouldn't usually be this dirty. There are dirty dishes overflowing from the sink, a layer of dust on the kitchen table that Allison absent-mindedly traces patterns in with her finger while Chris looks through the fridge for something to eat. Scott suspects he gave up on cleaning after Allison's death, the same way his mother did for a couple weeks after the divorce was finalized.

What little food Chris does have is spoiled, so they end up eating toast with strawberry jam. They don't really talk and Scott can't think of anything to break the awkward silence. He's the only one who seems to think it's awkward though. Allison seems perfectly happy with eating her toast in silence and Chris seems equally as happy staring at her throughout the entire meal.

"So what did I miss in the past five months?" Allison says, after she finishes her toast.

Chris and Scott exchange a glance. Neither of them wants to tell her about Kate, especially so soon after she's come back.

Allison raises her eyebrows at them, clearly expecting an answer. "Why did Kira move back to New York? And where are the twins?"

Scott blinks at her. "How did you know she moved back to New York?"

"Isaac looked her up on Facebook for me," Allison says with a shrug, picking up her glass to take a sip of water. "And he didn't know who the twins were."

"You asked him about us?" Scott asks, not really knowing why he's surprised. It makes sense, of course, that Allison would want to know what happened after her death. He just has a hard time imagining Isaac being helpful.

"Yeah. He knew you, Stiles, and Lydia from school, and I asked him to look up Dad and everyone else that he didn't know. So what happened?"

"Allison," Chris says carefully, putting his hand Allison's forearm. "Maybe we should discuss this later."

Allison's face goes stone cold, her eyes piercing as she stares Chris down.

"No," she says, very calmly. "Tell me."

It's an order. And Scott can't help being reminded that she'd shot a woman in the head yesterday and hadn't even broke her stride.

Chris removes his hand.

"Aiden...died," Scott says carefully, trying not to remember Ethan's sobs as he cradled his brother's body. "Ethan left, afterward. And Kira's family really only came to to deal with the nogitsune."

It's not completely true, though. The Yukimuras had appeared to be settling into Beacon Hills, until they realized that the nogitsune would hardly be the last threat to the town. They stayed until the mess was dealt with, but the prospect that hunters could come after them shook them. Scott guesses Kira's mother never had to deal with them before, and the idea of armed men coming after her daughter and husband disturbed her enough that she was no longer comfortable in Beacon Hills. Scott was sorry to see them go, because he liked Kira, he really did, but at the same time he was glad that they were able to get out. They would be safer elsewhere.

But if he told her this he would have to explain about Kate. And Peter. And he really doesn't want to do that now.

"The nogitsune," Allison murmurs, looking at him curiously. "Did you kill it?"

"Trapped it," Chris says gruffly, ducking his head down to adjust his robe to avoid looking at her, clearly uncomfortable with this line of conversation. "It won't get out again."

Allison nods, not seeming particularly interested in the details. Scott opens his mouth to ask her what she wants to do when a series of loud knocks on Allison's door distracts him.

"It's Lydia," Scott says at Allison's questioning look.

Allison's face falls; for a second Scott wonders if she doesn't want to see Lydia, but then she gets up and exits the kitchen. Scott hears her open the door and Lydia's subsequent sobs. He walks out into the hallway to see Lydia clinging to Allison, her rea hair spilling over Allison's shoulder as she cries.

"I'm so sorry, it's all my fault, Allison, I'm so sorry," she apologizes, over and over again, and Allison just shushes her and rocks her soothingly back and forth, her eyes wets as well.

"It's not," she whispers softly, brushing back Lydia's hair. "It's not, Lydia, I promise you. It's not your fault."

Lydia ignores her denials and continues to apologize until Scott and Allison sit her down on the living room couch. She huddles against Allison's left side while Scott sits on her right, gripping her hand tightly.

Eventually, after Lydia has stopped shaking, Allison seems to get bored. She sits up, displacing them both and startling Scott to a probably pathetic degree. She leans forward and grabs the remote, turning on the TV. A commercial for breakfast cereal plays on the screen, but Allison doesn't change it, and puts the remote back on the coffee table in front of them.

By the time the commercial is over and mindless reality TV starts up again, Chris has come into the room, full dressed and shaven, moving so carefully Scott almost wants to ask if maybe he should see a doctor. He sits down in the arm chair adjacent to the couch with a stack of papers that probably have something to do with his arms dealing business, considering how many pictures of guns there are in them. He reads through the papers and makes notations in the margins, looking up occasionally at Allison.

Stiles shows up by late afternoon to join them. Unlike Scott and Lydia, he does not break down sobbing, or cry at all, though he does look very white when he sits down next to Lydia on the couch.

"I think I missed TV," Allison murmurs a couple minutes later, after a truly ridiculous fight between two scantily-clad women breaks out on some reality TV show about a bunch of twenty-somethings living in a house together.

They all turn to give her an incredulous look, Lydia even raising her head from its position on Allison's shoulder.

"Isaac doesn't have a TV," Allison explains with a shrug. "I was really bored."

"What, what did you do there?" Lydia asks hesitantly, her makeup smudged heavily from crying.

"Sat around. Cooked. I did his homework sometimes too."

Stiles leans forward to get a better look at her face. "He made you do his _homework_?!" he says disbelievingly.

Allison unglues her eyes from the TV and gives him a strange look. "No. I just took it."

"You just took his homework," Scott repeats, trying and failing to imagine how that happened.

"He was doing it wrong," Allison says simply, as if that explains everything. "He's really bad at writing and has absolutely no idea what's going on in Physics, so I fixed it for him."

"Yeah, I can see why grammar might be a problem for him," Stiles mutters and Scott feels Allison stiffen next to him, her eyes narrowing as she glares at him for a half-second before turning back to the TV. She doesn't say anything, but she's clearly annoyed at Stiles for insulting Isaac. Scott's not sure what he thinks about that. He guesses that Isaac did help her out, but it feels weird that she even cares.

"Why did he let you stay with him?" Chris asks, looking up from his work. His expression is blank, too blank, and Scott realizes he's as uneasy as the rest of them are with the idea of Allison staying with Isaac Lahey for the past two weeks, especially when she was shell-shocked and emotionally-vulnerable.

"He just did," Allison replies easily, leaning down against Scott's shoulder. "He knew I had nowhere else to go, so he offered."

Nowhere else to _go_? Chris' expression seems to say, pain in his eyes, but Allison doesn't seem to notice, focusing on the TV again.

"He's used to random people coming to stay with him anyway," Allison continues, oblivious to their reactions to her words. "He doesn't even like Holly, but he lets her stay because she's Chantille's friend."

"How did you even meet him?" Stiles asks, looking just about as concerned as Scott feels, though he is assuaged by the reminder of the other three girls that live in Isaac's house.

"I ran into him in the woods, after the witches...brought me back," Allison says quietly, dropping her eyes down to stare at the carpet. Scott wraps his arm around her waist and Lydia scoots in closer to her in solidarity.

"In the woods. And he just let you stay with him?" Stiles asks, still looking confused at Isaac's contradictory behavior.

Allison rolls her eyes. "He's just like that. If Beacon Hills had an abandoned pet problem, they'd all end up at his house sooner or later."

Scott has a sudden image of Isaac surrounded by puppies, scowling furiously, and almost laughs, because _what_.

"_What_?" Stiles says in disbelief, craning his head to see Allison over Lydia's shoulder.

Allison ignores him though and just burrows further into Scott, clearly not wanting to talk about Isaac anymore.

She perks up when the trailer for the Hunger Games movie plays, watching with interest as the main character shoots her opponents with her bow and arrow.

"What is that?" she asks interestedly, sitting up and off Scott's shoulder, and he resists the temptation to pull her back.

"I think that's the Hunger Games movie," Scott says, as the "Now Playing in Theaters" flashes on the screen briefly. "I guess it just came out."

"Did you see it?" Allison asks, and looks almost disappointed as they all shake their heads. They'd been too busy to go out to the movies lately and even if they weren't, Scott still wouldn't want to see it. He doesn't know much about the Hunger Games; he hadn't read the books, but he does know that it's dark, violent, and involves dead teenagers. And Scott has enough of that in real life. He's not interested in reading about it too.

"Anything else interesting that I missed?" Allison asks, too casually, and it sounds like a test, but Scott can't think of what it would be for.

"Not really," Stiles says, with a lethargic shrug, when none of them answer, not that he would know. Stiles had dropped all of his previous interests in the wake of his possession. "The Avengers comes out next month, though."

Allison's blank expression, so like her father's, indicates they've failed whatever test she'd planned for them. She curls back into Scott's shoulder and grips his hand tightly.

The next few days are so strange. Scott feels like he's in a dream and that eventually he's going to wake up to a world in which Allison is still dead. Every morning he panics until he remembers that it wasn't just a dream, like the ones he'd had right after she died, that left him weighed down by grief and teary when he woke.

Allison seems to be more adjusted to it than any of them, which confuses Scott until he remembers that she had two weeks to get used to being alive. It makes him uncomfortable to think of what it must have been like during those two weeks, staying with Isaac, when she could have come to them at any time.

It worries Scott even more that Allison doesn't seem to be all that interested in talking about those two weeks. Whenever they ask, Allison simply shrugs her shoulders and says "He was nice", refusing to say anymore. The absurdity of Isaac being described as "nice" aside, her vagueness is worrying and leaves Scott with an unpleasant aftertaste in his mouth. It doesn't help that she keeps wearing his hoodie.

But she's _alive_. She's alive and not irrevocably traumatized. She's different, warmer in situations she would have remained aloof during the last months of her life, and colder in others, but that's to be expected. To be honest, sometimes Scott thinks she's more worried about them than anything.

Going back to school after their long weekend together is bizarre. All Scott can think about is Allison, and whether she'll be able to come back with them soon. She's still legally dead, but Chris is working on getting that reversed. Scott isn't sure how that's going to work, considering he identified her body and Scott and Lydia were written up as witnesses to her death in the police report, but he supposes the Sheriff will take care of that, and it's hard to deny Allison's not actually dead.

Isaac avoids them at school, but every once and a while Scott can feel his eyes on him, and Scott's not really sure what to do about him. Some part of him feels like he should thank Isaac for watching out for Allison during those two weeks, but at the same time he doesn't want to thank him without knowing what he's thanking him for. Interrogating him about what exactly those two weeks consisted of is bound to fail, and so Scott resists the urge to slam Isaac up against a wall and demand he tell them exactly what happened. He might have even been right, earlier, when he'd said that it was Allison's business if she wanted to talk about it. Maybe. Scott's still on the fence on that one.

Scott, Lydia, and Stiles spend most of their free time at Allison's that week, just sitting around, watching TV, talking, eating. They don't talk about anything serious, nothing about the witches, about Kate or Peter or the hunters, though they do mention that Derek moved out of Beacon Hills to be with Cora. Scott knows that they'll have to tell her eventually, but none of them want to talk about anything unpleasant when things are still so delicate and untested.

Allison doesn't leave the the apartment during that first week, which is why Scott is so surprised to find her sitting on his doorstep Friday night after he gets back from work.

"Hey," she says, smiling at him while he takes off his helmet and kicks down the kickstand on his bike.

"What are you doing here?" Scott asks, though he's pleased to see she's changed out of her pajamas and Isaac's hoodie, wearing jeans and the same shirt she'd worn when Barrow broke into the school. "I was just about to head over after I changed."

"I wanted to see you," Allison says simply and stands up and takes his hand. A little bewildered, Scott allows her to lead him to the door.

"Uh, does your dad know you're here?" Scott asks as he shuts the door behind him. He can only imagine Chris' reaction if Allison just disappeared on him.

"Yeah," Allison says and then pulls him forward right into her personal space.

She kisses him, very softly, and Scott's eyes slide shut. He drops his helmet on the floor and wraps his arms around her, bringing her flush against him and kisses her back.

But when Allison tries to deepen the kiss, Scott pulls back, remembering the situation, where they are.

"What?" she asks, looking uncharacteristically shy. "Do you...do you not wan-"

"I do!" Scott says, eager to wipe that unsure expression off of her face. "But don't you think we should...are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be a good idea?" she asks, leaning in to kiss his neck.

"You don't-ah-think it's a little-Mm-soon?"

Allison pulls back and then slides her hands up under his jacket and shirt, the feel of her hands a shock against the skin of his back. "No," she says quietly and leans her forehead against his. "I want you."

Shit. The words alone make Scott's dick twitch and he tries to ignore the arousal flooding through his veins, to think rationally about this, all the reasons why they shouldn't jump into bed with each other right away.

"I hate when you say things like that," Scott says weakly, but lets her pull off his jacket and kisses her deeply after she throws it in the general direction of the hall closet, even though he doesn't keep it in there.

He tangles his hands in her hair and thinks _God, yes, please, anything_. Anything to have her again. Allison moans against his mouth when he slides his hands up her shirt, under her bra to cup her breasts and Scott forgets all of his misgivings, lost in the feel of her mouth, her smooth skin, and soft hair.

They manage to get onto his bed without much delay, Allison barely remembering to shut the door behind them. Their shirts come off and Scott's fingers stumble with the clasp of her bra, even though he's undone this particular one before at least twice while she works on his belt. Allison pushes his jeans down and then shimmies out of her own before pulling him on top of her, kissing him furiously as he grinds against her, only the thin fabric of his boxers and her underwear separating them.

Allison's small hand slips under the hem of his boxers and Scott freezes, looking down at her in dismay.

"Wait, Allison, I don't have any-"

"I do," she says and then squirms out from under him to grab the condom out of the pocket of her jeans and holding it up triumphantly, just like she had last January to Kate and Chris.

The brief moment of panic gives him some clarity and Scott forces his eyes away from her breasts, sitting up properly.

"Allison, are you sure you want to do this?" he asks seriously, reaching out to grip her hand. "Because we can wait if you want."

Allison leans in again to kiss him, her hands running down his chest to hi-shit!

"I don't want to wait," she says, somehow coquettish and earnest at the same time, and rips open the condom packet.

Scott is lost the second he gets inside her, his control shot to pieces at the tight, wet, heat of her around him. He'd forgotten what this felt like and has to go slowly to prevent himself from coming before he even starts. Allison isn't helping with her moans, the feel of her thighs tight around his hips, and the way her breasts bounce as she squirms, trying to get him in her deeper.

Scott gets one hand in her hair and one on her clit, kissing her until they both can barely breathe, the movement of her hips causing his bed to squeak annoyingly.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Allison moans, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, face flushed and panting. "Faster, c'mon, fas-ah! Yes! Like that! Scott!"

Scott groans and buries his face in her neck, resisting the urge to bite down and _claim_, but it won't occur to him later that this is the first time he's had sex since he became an alpha.

Allison gives a particularly high-pitched whimper as his knee slips on the sheet and changes his angle, clenching around his cock and then he's _gone_. He was never going to last anyway, not like this, and Scott groans loudly through clenched teeth as he rides out his orgasm, his hips jerking wildly.

Once he regains his breath, Scott pushes Allison's thighs apart and goes down on her, lapping at the rubbery taste of her and sucking on her clit. Scott _loves_ oral. He loves the taste, the smell, the feel of Allison's fingers gripping his hair and the sound of her whimpering when he gets it just right. Allison's never been particularly easy to get off, so Scott always gets to spend long minutes between her shaking thighs while she squirms against him and directs his mouth to just the right spot.

This time his jaw is aching by the time Allison finally stiffens and ruts against his mouth, moaning his name loudly, but it's so worth it just to feel her fall apart. He works her through the aftershocks until she finally collapses against the bed, gasping for breath.

Scott rests against her thigh while she comes out of it, idly playing with her coarse pubic hair. He kind of likes her unshaven, even though it's different than what he's used to.

"Scott," Allison says when she's regained her breath enough to speak, reaching for him. "_Scott._"

Scott crawls up the bed to lie beside her, pride warming his chest as he takes in her wrecked state. She's flushed _everywhere_ and her eyes are mere slits as she looks up at him, still panting. Scott can't help but smile down at her, stroking her hair back.

She pulls him down to kiss him, even though he hadn't so much as wiped his mouth and Scott moans at the feel of her tongue against his, sliding his hands down her body, pleased when she whimpers in response. She breaks away to kiss his collarbone and then lies on his shoulder while he wraps his arm over her waist, stroking her hair gently.

They lie like that for a long while. Their breaths slow down and Allison bring her hand up to cup his cheek, drawing him into another deep kiss. Scott rolls onto his side to chase her mouth, but there's something cold building up in his chest, chasing away his post-orgasm high. He tries to ignore it, focus on kissing Allison, the feel of her breasts against his chest, but it only gets worse as the seconds pass by. Eventually he has to pull away, squeezing his eyes shut against the sudden influx of tears.

"Scott?" Allison says worriedly. "Hey, no, Scott."

A sob escapes his lips and Allison pulls his head to rest on her shoulder, wrapping her arms around his back.

"Shhh, Scott, it's okay, it's okay," she says, but he can hear the tears in her voice too.

"Allison," Scott sobs into her shoulder, gripping her waist tightly. "Allison, I'm so-"

"Scott, no, it's okay," Allison whispers, and Scott hears her bring up her hand to wipe her eyes.

"I'm so _sorry_," Scott continues, breaths coming in panicked gasps. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault. I should've protected you, I shouldn't've let you go alon-"

"Scott, Scott, listen to me," Allison says firmly and pulls him off his shoulder to look him right in the eye. Her eyes are still wet, but there's a strength in them that Scott wants to cling to. "Scott, it wasn't your fault," she says, her tone allowing no room for argument. "It wasn't yours, or Stiles's, or Lydia's, or my dad's, okay? It just happened."

Scott's not sure if he can believe that, but he closes his eyes and nods shortly. Allison sighs and presses her forehead against his, and they breathe together in the quiet space of his room, the sounds and smells of outside muted by Allison's heartbeat.

"During those two weeks," Scott asks, when he's sure he isn't going to start crying again, "did you...did you think of me at all?"

Allison's eyes snap open, looking hurt. "Scott," she says, tears welling in her eyes. "Of course. Of course, I-"

She rolls away onto her back, blinking up at the ceiling furiously.

"I thought about all of you. All the time. I just...I just couldn't come back right away."

"Allison," Scott says, resisting the urge to curl into her side again. "I know...I know you don't want to talk about it, but what happened when you were at Isaac's? He didn't...He didn't do anything weird, right? Or, he wasn't, you kn-"

"No," Allison says, turning to him in confusion, as if she doesn't even understand why the thought would cross his mind. "He was nice."

She pauses and sighs, turning back to face the ceiling. Scott waits, because she's obviously gearing up to say something, and tries not to panic.

"When they first brought me back," she says, very slowly, fists clenched at her sides. "I wasn't...I wasn't really alive. My heart...it wasn't beating. I didn't have to breathe. Or eat. Or sleep. I wasn't even wearing any clothes."

Scott feels the cold ache in his chest again and tries to control his breathing.

"I...I don't think they expected that I could run," Allison says to the ceiling, sounding very far away. "So they didn't catch me right away when I did. And then I ran into Isaac."

Scott tries not to panic at the thought of Allison, naked and terrified, coming across Isaac in the middle of the woods. He feels sick even as he tries not to jump to conclusions.

Oddly, Allison smiles. "He thought I was high," she says, still looking up at the ceiling, but with a hint of a grin on her face. "I forget what he said, but he gave me this look..." She trails off and shakes her head, the faint smile disappearing. "He could tell I was really freaked out, though. He was going to take me to the hospital, but then he could hear that my heart..."

Allison closes her eyes and shrugs her shoulders. "I think he felt bad for me. So he let me stay on his couch, gave me his friends' clothes. I didn't...I didn't want to talk to anyone, or move, or do anything, so he left me alone. And then, after a couple days, I started throwing up all this black stuff, I thought, I thought I was dead for sure." Allison pauses and swallows, rubbing her eyes. "But then I started breathing again and my heart started beating."

Scott gasps and tries to stifle his sob, relief flooding through him, and Allison turns to smile at him sadly, taking his hand.

"It was nice," she tells him quietly, bringing their enjoined hands up to kiss the back of his hand. "It was like being on vacation, away from Beacon Hills. I didn't know them, and they didn't know me. They didn't really seem to care I was there either." She lets out a soft laugh. "They liked having me there once they realized I could cook."

She rolls over to his side again and brings up the sheets to cover them both, curling into his shoulder.

Scott would like to stay like this forever, just lying there with her warm body curled into his side. But Allison was honest with him, and so it's his turn to be honest with her.

"Allison?" he says gently.

"Mmm?"

"I need to tell you something."

He tells her about Kate, the hunters, and Peter. He tells her about how Kate almost killed Derek, how the hunters went after Kira, Stiles, and him at the library, and Lydia at her home. How Peter took advantage of the chaos to come after him, almost killing Kira in the process. And how the whole thing ended in a bloody mess.

Allison is very quiet when he finishes, but she doesn't roll away or become angry that he didn't tell her right away.

"So that's why Derek moved away," she says softly, not raising her head from his chest. "And the Yukimuras?"

"Yeah," Scott says, feeling a little pang of regret as he remembers watching them drive away. "I don't think they realized that the nogitsune wasn't that out of the ordinary for Beacon Hills. And after Kira almost died, and the hunters...they had enough."

"Do you miss her?" Allison asks next and Scott blinks at the oddness of the question, looking down at her strangely.

"Yes," he says truthfully. "But we weren't...We didn't...you know. She wanted to, but I couldn't...after."

"Okay," Allison says quietly, and doesn't say anything else, but Scott can tell she's not done. He leans just to rest his cheek against the top of her head and waits for her to bring up Kate.

"So, werejaguars, huh?" she says after a few minutes, sounding tired. "That's...new."

"Yeah, we've decided to stop being surprised at anything in this town," Scott says, but his heart's not into it. "Allison, are you-"

"I don't want to talk about Kate," Allison says calmly. "She's dead, Peter's dead, it's over."

"Okay," Scott says quietly and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"My dad...didn't take it well, did he?" she asks after a few seconds, still not looking up at him.

"No," Scott says and tries not to remember the horrible look on Chris' face when he saw his sister for the first time after her death. "He didn't."

"He wants us to leave Beacon Hills," Allison says and it sends a jolt of panic through Scott, even though he probably shouldn't be surprised. She can't...she can't leave. Not when he just got her back.

But then she'd be safe.

"Maybe...maybe you should," Scott says, even though it's hard to get the words out. Allison stiffens and sits up to look at him with a betrayed look. "No, Allison, listen. You should...you should go. You should get out of this town. Nothing...nothing ever good happens here."

He's crying again and wipes his eyes quickly. He's so sick of crying.

"Oh, Scott," she says gently, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him on the cheek. "Where would I go? Everything I have is here."

"You could start over," Scott says desperately, because he already knows there is no convincing her. "You could be safe."

"No, I couldn't," Allison says, a hint of regret in her voice and hugs him tightly. Scott closes his eyes and buries his face in her hair, trying not to shake.

"Besides," Allison murmurs, stroking his hair. "I missed my birthday, but legally speaking I'm eighteen. My dad can't make me do anything."

Scott tries not to think about Allison's birthday earlier this year. Lydia and Stiles had gotten spectacularly drunk in the park and ended up sobbing all over him while he tried to calm them down and get them home without their parents finding out. Then he'd gone home and smashed his alarm clock into bits.

"How is being undeclared dead going anyway?" Scott mumbles, trying to change the subject.

Allison pulls him back down to the bed and guides his head to rest on her chest. "There is a surprising amount of paperwork," she replies, shifting to get into a comfortable position. "You'd think I could just show up and they'd tear up my death certificate."

"My dad's pretty suspicious, by the way," Scott says, remembering his father's phone call earlier this week. "Lydia and I were listed as witnesses in the police report, so..."

Scott closes his eyes and breathes, trying not to think of sitting on that bench in the Sheriff's office while they explained Chris' fabricated story.

"He's still here?" Allison says in surprise.

Scott scowls. "Unfortunately."

He doesn't elaborate though. He doesn't really want to talk about his dad.

"When's your mom coming home?" Allison asks, stroking her hand down Scott's chest suggestively, her grin bright and flirtatious, reminding him of when they first started going out.

"Uh," Scott says, feeling his face flush. "11. Why?"

Allison rolls her eyes. "Why?" she repeats mockingly and then ducks under the covers, erasing all thoughts of anything but the feel of her mouth and tongue from Scott's brain.

Allison's still asleep beside him the next morning and Scott just watches her for a while, mesmerized by her long lashes, the rise and fall of her chest, and the consistency of her heartbeat. He has to get up to take a shower eventually, because he smells disgusting, and he's careful not to wake her when he slips into the bathroom.

She's still not awake when he finishes showering, so he tiptoes out of the room and goes downstairs to get them some breakfast.

Only to find his mother sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper.

"Morning, Scott," she says, too casually, and Scott feels his face flush in mortification. Shit, Allison's car is parked right in front of their house.

"Uh, hi," he says and wonders if it would be too melodramatic to run upstairs and hide.

"How are you today?" she asks, smiling at him like the cat that caught the canary. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," Scott mumbles and makes a beeline for the fridge so he doesn't have to look at his mother's face anymore.

"So where's Allison?" his mother asks, with absolutely no shame, putting the newspaper down. "She's not climbing out your window, is she?"

"Mom!" Scott says, horrified, turning to stare at her with alarmed eyes.

"Honey, if you think you're getting out of talking about this, then think again," his mother says straightforwardly, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that always means business.

"Is there any way we could postpone this discussion, like, possibly forever?" Scott asks hopefully.

"You're not that lucky, kid," his mother replies with an amused smile. "Now go get your girlfriend. It's only fair that if we have to suffer, so should she."

"I'm telling her to run while she still can!" Scott calls over his shoulder as he exits the kitchen reluctantly and goes back up to his room.

Allison is awake when he opens the door, still naked and tangled in his sheets, her eyes wide and shocked, having clearly heard their conversation.

"Hi," Scott says, smiling so widely at the muddled look on her face that his mouth actually hurts. "I love you."

"I love you too," Allison says slowly, torn between embarrassment and amusement. "But your mother's downstairs."

"Yeah, I would run while you still can," Scott tells her candidly, and Allison, never being the kind of girl that had to be told things twice, leaps out of bed to grab her clothes.

**A/N: Scott and Allison are so sickeningly adorable that it warms even my shriveled black heart. They are such BABIES. Please review!**


	15. Allison II

Allison looks at herself in her bedroom mirror, examining herself from different angles critically. Her eyebrows are plucked, she's wearing mascara and eyeliner, along with lip gloss and just a hint of blush. After much deliberation she'd picked out the light blue lace dress with the white Peter Pan collar that she'd bought in Paris last summer. She'd shaved her legs and painted her toenails a light pink, her delicate heeled sandals showing them off nicely. It's the first time she's really looked like herself since she came back.

Before she can nitpick at her appearance any longer, Allison grabs her bag off her bed and walks down the hallway into her dad's office.

Her father looks up at her in surprise from his desk. "Allison," he says, and then apparently can't go on, so taken aback by her appearance.

"I'm going out," she says, feeling awkward under his intense stare.

"Oh," he says, still staring at her. "With Scott?"

"Yeah," Allison lies, because she doesn't want to bother with the long explanation. "You didn't have anything planned, did you?"

"No," her father says and then gets a stern look on his face. "You're not sleeping over there again."

Allison resists the urge to roll her eyes. You'd think that after she died and came back to life, he'd get over the idea of her having sex with Scott.

"I won't be back too late," she says instead, giving him a reassuring smile. "I promise."

"Keep your phone on!" her dad calls as she leaves the apartment and Allison rolls her eyes. She hasn't turned it off since she found out what the family business really was.

It feels good to get out of the house. She hasn't really been doing much for the past two weeks except hanging out with Scott, Lydia, and Stiles, and they mostly come over to her place. She's gone out to eat with her dad a couple times, and Lydia had wanted to take her shopping over the weekend, but the idea of being around that many people is exhausting. She has to ease her way back into life, otherwise Allison is afraid she might crack.

She's ridiculously nervous during the short drive, constantly drumming her fingers against the steering wheel and checking the rearview mirror. She's not even sure who is supposed to be following her. She just doesn't want to be around other people. When she parks and walks up the steps, Allison's knees are shaking and she clenches her fists at her side, trying to steady herself.

Stop being an idiot, Allison, she tells herself, and then reaches out to ring the doorbell.

Nothing happens.

Thinking it must be broken, Allison reaches out to knock on the door, but it opens before her knuckles touch the wood.

"Allison?" Isaac says incredulously, looking at her like he barely recognizes her.

"Uh, hi," Allison says awkwardly and then lifts up her bag. "I brought back your clothes."

Isaac continues staring at her for a beat and then nods. "Oh. Okay. You wanna...come in?"

Allison nods and gives him a brief smile, stepping into the house, but on the inside she's cringing. Why did she think it was a good idea to come here dressed like this? She should've worn jeans and no makeup like she'd been doing every other day of the week, instead of wearing a dress that cost more than Isaac made in a month. She hadn't even dressed up like this to see Scott. What was she thinking?

"Allison!" Holly says from the couch when they walk into the living room. "Damn, girl, were you always this hot? You look like a model."

"Hi, Allison," Latisha says, coming out of the kitchen and looking her up and down interestedly.

"Hey," Allison says, feeling uncomfortable under their stares.

"Seriously, Isaac, look, she has tits!" Holly says, pointing at her chest, and it's so ridiculous that Allison has to bite back a laugh.

"Holly!" Isaac hisses, blushing furiously, and somehow his embarrassment puts Allison more at ease.

"I'm not the only one who got a makeover," Allison says, looking at Holly's new jeans and tanktop. Her hair's been cut too, in a long bob that flatters her thin face. Her dirty blonde roots are growing out though, and they look a little weird with the rest of her hair which is still bleached blonde.

"Yeah, well, some bitch took some of the only clothes that fit me, so..." Holly says, though she's smiling, like she's pleased that Allison noticed.

"Are you gonna cook dinner?" Latisha asks hopefully, sipping a juice box.

"Meatloaf!" Holly says desperately. "We never got to eat it. And then it started stinking up the fridge, so we had to throw it out."

"Holly, leave her alone," Isaac says, giving her an irritated look. "She ain't your cook."

"It's no problem," Allison says, eager to do something instead of just standing around. "Grocery store?"

There's another moment of awkwardness when Latisha wants to drive in Allison's car and she realizes exactly how nice of a car it is, but then Holly makes a grab for the radio and finds an R&B station, turning it up far louder than Allison ever would listen to music by herself.

They go to the Foods Co on the other side of town. Allison's never been there before; she and her dad usually go to Whole Foods or Bel Air Supermarket, and she can tell why the moment she walks in. Everything is much cheaper, though a lot of the fruits and vegetables look overripe. The other shoppers are people dressed in cheap clothes similarly to Isaac and Holly, often with a lot of kids, and Allison wonders where they come from. They can't possibly live in Beacon Hills, could they?

"Is this one okay?" Allison asks Isaac, holding up the package of ground beef so that he can see the price. It's embarrassing to admit that she's never looked at the prices of food when grocery shopping before, and Allison is determined not to assume that he will blindly buy anything she chooses.

"Yeah, that one's good," Isaac says, and then calls over his shoulder for Latisha to bring the shopping cart. "What do you want to drink?"

"Water's fine," Allison says and smiles as she watches Latisha wheel the shopping cart over excitedly. Her head is just barely visible above the handle.

Isaac nods and ducks his head, almost shyly, as he takes the ground beef and puts it in the shopping cart. Allison can tell he's not sure what to make of her. Part of her is kicking herself for so drastically changing her appearance from what he's used to, but the other part of her is annoyed at him for thinking she's a different person all of the sudden. It's just clothes. Why is he acting so wary of her?

It's only later that Allison remembers that he saw her shoot a woman in the head. She's trying not to think about it, after all.

"Absolutely not," Isaac says when Holly walks up carrying a pack of Coke.

"Oh, live a little," Holly responds, ignoring him and dumping it in the cart. "If I can't buy alcohol in this town, then I'm gonna get me some soda."

Isaac scowls, but doesn't argue. A second later his cell phone rings, and he digs it out of his pocket.  
"Chantille? Yeah, sorry, we're at Foods Co with Allison, we should be back so-why? You can talk to her later, we'll be-C'mon, Chantille- ugh, fine."

He thrusts the flip phone at Allison, looking irritated. "She wants to talk to you."

"Hi," Allison says, taking the phone from him.  
"Are you okay?" Chantille asks, sounding worried. "It's been two weeks, girl, what happened?"

"I went back to live with my dad," Allison says, surprised at her concern.

"Yeah, that's what Isaac said, but you didn't even say goodbye!"

"I'm sorry," Allison says, touched by Chantille's worry, to the point where she feels her eyes begin to water.

"You'd better be," Chantille says indignantly. "We all missed you, you know. Isaac was all moody and shit for days."

Isaac, who had picked up the cloves of garlic from inside the cart and was inspecting them with a skeptical look, goes rigid, his shoulders stiffening. It's too hot for a jacket now and despite the fact that he stands over six feet, he looks very small in his thin white undershirt.

Allison smiles and lets her hair fall over her face to hide her expression.

"You still there?"

"Yeah," Allison says, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye."

"How's it going with you dad? Everything okay?"

Things were going...awkwardly. Allison's family has never been the most emotionally-open and thus they haven't really talked about her death. Allison hasn't even talked to her father about Kate and unless Scott told him that she knows what happened, he still has no idea that she is aware of the events of the past few months. They've spent a lot of time together, but the only thing serious they've ever discussed was the possibility of them leaving Beacon Hills, and Allison had shot that down immediately.

She knows that it's unhealthy, that normal families communicate with each other, especially about something as important as her _coming back to life_, but the Argents have never been normal. They never really talked about a whole host of other issues before she died, anyway. Kate, her mother, Gerard. It's too painful for both of them and brings up things like her father's past hunting werewolves. Allison loves her father and she's proud of him, but she knows that he's killed people, werewolves, and not all of them deserved it. She doesn't think she could stomach the details.

"We're okay," she says softly. "We're just about done, so I'll see you soon, okay?"

"You're making food, right?" Chantille says excitedly. "Awesome!"

She hangs up then and Allison gives the phone back to Isaac, feeling pleased, even though she knows Chantille and Holly mostly like her because she makes them food that doesn't come out of a frozen box.

Isaac looks a little awkward as he accepts the phone, but she pretends not to know the reason why, and turns back to their shopping. She really has no idea why Scott and her other friends are so suspicious of him.

Isaac goes to get paper towels while she and Holly look at the price of tampons in the next aisle. Allison hears him talking to someone though, and she goes around to the end of the aisle to poke her head around and see what's going on.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Isaac is saying, glaring at Malia Tate, who is standing a couple feet from him, clenching her grocery basket tightly. "How many times do you I have to explain to you people that I haven't done nothing?"

"Yet," Malia says, glaring back at him. "You clearly don't have any control over the shift, so I would say it's only a matter of time."

"Fuck off," Isaac growls defensively, and Allison feels it's high time for her to step in.

"Is there a problem?" she asks mildly, walking up to stand at Isaac's side. She doesn't really know anything about Malia except that she's friends with Scott, Stiles, and Lydia, but so far she's not getting a great first impression. Well, second impression, though being a werecoyote probably doesn't count. But she's bothering Isaac for no reason and it doesn't reflect well on her.

Malia gives her an incredulous look. "Are you serious? You're hanging out with _him_?"

Her tone is so hostile, Allison is honestly taken aback. What is wrong with her? What is Isaac supposed to have done?

"What is your _problem_?" she asks frostily, crossing her arms over her chest.

"That's my line," Malia scoffs, looking at Allison as if she think she's an idiot. "Didn't you just come back to life? I didn't think you'd be so eager to jump in to the grave again."

"What the fuck did you just say?" Isaac says furiously, while Allison stares uncomprehendingly at Malia, completely mystified about why she's being so rude. Why would she think Isaac would hurt her? She'd _seen_ him helping her, just two weeks ago. What was she talking about?

"Jesus Christ," Holly says from behind them. "Didn't you just move here three months ago? How do already have people hating you?"

Malia gives them a disgusted look and turns on her heel, disappearing around the corner of the aisle.

"What was that?" Holly asks Isaac when they turn around.

"Nothing," Isaac scowls, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Mind your own business."

"She gonna cause problems?"

"Where's Latisha?" Isaac says, ignoring her, and then walks past her into the next aisle. Allison shrugs her shoulders when Holly turns her quizzical look on her and then grabs the cheapest package of paper towels she can find.

They eat dinner late because it takes a while to make the meatloaf, but Allison enjoys just cooking and talking with them in the kitchen of Isaac's small house. It's nice to be around people who aren't involved in the supernatural world at all. And none of them except Isaac even know she died. Sometimes Allison feels smothered by the way her dad and her friends tiptoe around her, like they're afraid the wrong word will set her off. It doesn't help that they have a good reason to believe that she might snap.

It's different when she's alone with Scott. Scott's concern for her well-being has always made Allison feel safe and loved. But when it's all of them in the room with her, Allison feels...outnumbered.

Being with Isaac, Holly, Chantille, and Latisha doesn't feel like that. Of course, they don't really know her or love her like her friends do, but the point still stands.

Halfway through dinner, Allison starts getting frantic text messages from her dad, Scott, and Lydia all at the same time. Apparently, Scott and Lydia had gone over to see her and her story about hanging out with Scott fell apart. Allison responds to each of them not to worry and she will be home soon, but doesn't tell them where she is. After the way Malia reacted, she wouldn't be surprised if they all showed up at Isaac's house, to save her from a boy who put ketchup on toast and thought Lyndon Johnson was a jazz musician. She supposes she shouldn't have lied about where she was going, but it is still irritating to be interrogated about her whereabouts.

Allison doesn't really understand why they distrust him so much. She knows that Isaac swears far too much and has a tendency to be rude to people who he feels threatened by, and so they probably would not have become friends if they hadn't met the way they did. She'd probably dislike him. But she doesn't think she would think he was as dangerous as everyone else seemed to, would she?

She stays to help clean up afterward, until she feels she can't stay much longer without worrying her father to death.

"Hey, don't be a stranger," Chantille says as she waves from the door. "You're welcome to come over and cook for us anytime!"

"Yeah, I'll see you," Allison says with an amused grin and heads down the lawn to her car.

"You're so generous, Chantille," Isaac calls, following her out to her car.

"Fuck off."

"You doing okay?" he asks her when she gets to her car. He seems more at ease with her now and Allison is glad. She'd hate to have everything change just because she wasn't living with them anymore.

"Yeah, I'm...well, getting there," she says truthfully, shrugging her shoulders. "Coming back to life is a hassle, let me tell you. You wouldn't believe the paperwork I have to fill out."

Isaac grins and Allison suddenly feels a pang of regret at the idea of leaving. Suddenly all she wants to do is climb back into his bed and draw the covers over her head. She hasn't been able to sleep alone since she moved out. She's been sleeping in her father's bed the past two weeks, waking up every once and a while in a panic, grabbing at her heart to make sure it's still beating.

It'd be a strange thing to ask, though. Isaac might have been fine with it while she was living here because of the lack of beds, but she doesn't think he'd like it if she asked now. Scott and her father definitely wouldn't like it.

"I gotta go now," she says regretfully, taking out her keys. "My dad'll be waiting. But I'll...see you later?"

"Yeah," Isaac says, surprised but pleased, as if he wasn't sure she'd want to come back. "Anytime."

Allison walks around her car to open the driver's side door and then pauses before she gets in. "Isaac?" she says, trying to go for sincere, but it comes out hesitant. "Thanks. You know, for everything."

Isaac shrugs, looking down at her car instead of her. "No problem," he says, clearly embarrassed, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Allison doesn't bother trying to press him into accepting her thanks and gets into her car. Her father isn't going to be happy when she gets home, but he's going to have to deal with it, and so will the rest of them.

Allison should be dead. She really should. But since she's not, she's going to live her life how she wants. Beacon Hills is a dangerous place and life is short. She's not going to have any regrets this time around.

**A/N: Sorry this part is so short! I just wanted to give you a sense of Allison's return to her old life.** **Please review and the next part will be out soon!**


	16. Isaac IX

"Is this really necessary?" Isaac asks under his breath for the fifth time as Chantille inspects the TV carefully. They're standing in someone else's living room while Chantille examines their flatscreen TV. It's a pretty nice TV for fifty bucks, but then she wants a DVD player and cable and Isaac is of the opinion she should be saving her money. Chantille'd spent her first paycheck on a bike, because she could barely fit on Isaac's, her second on groceries, and her third on buying Holly new clothes to prepare her for her move to Las Vegas. And now it looks like her fourth is going to be on this.

"I'll take it," Chantille says to the middle-aged owners of the TV and shells out fifty bucks while Isaac carries it to the car.

"You sure you don't want help with that, son?" the man asks. He's short and balding, reminding Isaac disturbingly of one of the witches, but his face is much thinner and he's wearing socks with sandals.

"I got it," Isaac grunts, eager to get out of their house. He doesn't like being in other people's houses and despite Chantille's charming smiles, he knows she doesn't either.

He sticks the TV in the back of his car and Chantille sits in the backseat to make sure it doesn't fall over.

"It's not that expensive," Chantille says suddenly, after they spend the first five minutes in silence. "And cable's only $40 a month."

"Hey, it's your money," Isaac says with a shrug, because while Chantille may not legally be an adult, she is in any logical definition of the word and she can make her own choices.

"Don't you want nice things?" Chantille asks, sounding very young and Isaac meets her eyes in the rearview mirror for a second before looking away quickly. "I don't understand how you...I know you can afford it."

"I don't really care," Isaac lies, knowing that Chantille can probably see through him.

It's not like he likes living in a shithole, wearing clothes that are falling apart at the seams. It's not that he doesn't want nice things. But it's just always been easier to accept that he can't have them then wishing for things he'll never be able to have. Isaac's always known that what he wants doesn't matter anyway. And besides, it's safer to save money. No telling when there might be an emergency, especially in this town.

"You got the most self-control out of anyone I've ever met," Chantille says, sadly though, like she doesn't think it's a good thing.

You have no idea, Isaac thinks, thinking of the upcoming full moon.

"Well, if you don't care, then I will," Chantille says, face hardening with determination. "And first step is getting a TV. Then we have to get you some decent threads. Allison's not going to fuck you dressed like that."

"I told you, it's not like that," Isaac says in annoyance, because Chantille and Holly seem to have gotten the crazy idea that he and Allison should hook up. "She has a _boyfriend_."

He's pretty sure Allison and Scott are dating, anyway. At the very least, from the way she talked about him back when she was staying with them makes Isaac think she's in love with him. Personally, Isaac thinks Allison is way out of Scott's league-she's surprisingly hot when she's not covered in dirt and wearing other people's clothes. But maybe she's into the whole heroic, self-sacrificing thing. Which, alright, is a pretty good reason to be into someone for. Scott is still pretty annoying, but that night in the woods...Well, it was...it was something. Isaac didn't think people like that actually existed outside of movies.

"Yeah, who?" Chantille says, rolling her eyes. "Why didn't she go to _his_ house then?"

The asshole that got Isaac arrested after he beat the shit out of Latisha's foster father, that's who, Isaac thinks, but doesn't think Chantille would take that very well.

"Because her dad would know to look there," Isaac explains, already tired of this subject.

"Bullshit, I saw the way you was looking at her at the pizza place on Wednesday. And she definitely into you," Chantille insists, holding the TV upright as they go around a sharp turn. "You have got to get your dick wet sometime, and I vote Allison."

"Oh, so this a group decision now," Isaac says sarcastically, pulling into the driveway.

"You know Holly agrees with me. We both think you should get with Allison. You're pretty, she's pretty- you should have pretty white babies together."

"Fuck off," Isaac says, probably more vehemently than he should, getting out of the car. He doesn't bother to take the TV out of the backseat and goes inside, straight up to his room. He collapses onto his bed face first and grits his teeth angrily.

Shit. He should probably apologize to Chantille. It weren't her fault she'd touched a nerve. There was no way she could know that he'd never be able to be with a girl, never be able to get married or have children. Fuck, he couldn't even jerk off without ripping his dick off with his claws.

Malia knew that. The way she looked at him last week...she could tell that all of his self-control was a veneer, a smokescreen that hid the part of Isaac that always lurked underneath the surface. The part of him that just wanted to kill people.

Isaac doesn't know if he regrets becoming a werewolf or not. It is undeniable that despite its drawbacks it has gotten him out of a lot of scrapes. He'd been able to stop being so afraid of the other boys in the group home, of teachers and other older men. It saved him from being beaten, being robbed, being raped, and after he took his revenge on anyone who ever crossed him that first week he became a werewolf, the boys he lived with knew not to fuck with him. As a child it had kept him safe and Isaac will forever be grateful for that. But he knows as an adult it will keep him from ever being normal, from marriage, from family.

"Isaac?" Chantille says from the door, sounding worried. "I...I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Isaac mutters and gets out of bed. Chantille looks very concerned and more than a bit confused. Shit, she probably thinks he's a complete headcase, traumatized by living in the group home to the point that he's terrified of sex. "I'll go get the TV."

"Okay," Chantille says quietly and lets her walk past him down the stairs and back out of the house without a word.

That's what's great about Chantille. She doesn't ask. It's one of the main reasons they get along so well.

Allison comes over a few more times over the next couple days, looking perfect and untouchable in her well-tailored clothes and immaculately made-up face, but Chantille doesn't bring up the possibility of a romantic relationship again. Isaac enjoys Allison's company, she's easy to be around and actually seems to understand his sarcasm, but he's not really sure why she goes out of her way to hang out with them.

He asks her once, after the fourth time she gets a barrage of text messages from her friends about her whereabouts, why she keep coming over and she looks surprised he's even asking.

"I like having other friends," she says with shrug, and Isaac turns to hide his smile. He'd...he'd thought they were friends, but it's nice to hear her say it. Isaac's never really had any friends besides Chantille before, and to be honest, she mostly feels like his sister.

* * *

Towards the end of April, Chantille and Holly stop talking to each other. Or rather, Chantille stops talking to Holly and Holly starts getting progressively more miserable.

It's surprising, because usually Chantille and Holly get along so well-Chantille hadn't even gotten mad at her over the gun or the time she almost broke the microwave by putting non-microwave safe plastic in it, but initially Isaac doesn't get involved. But after two days even Latisha seems to notice something's wrong.

Chantille refuses to acknowledge that there's anything wrong and gets mad at him when he asks her yes or no questions so he can figure out if she's lying. Isaac goes to Holly and is surprised at her hostility to _him_.

"Why didn't you make her get tested?" she asks furiously, not bothering to lower her voice even though Latisha is right out in the living room watching TV.

"What?" Isaac says, because it hadn't even crossed his mind. "_That's_ what this is about?"

"You have to make her get tested because she won't listen to me," Holly continues, pacing around the kitchen agitatedly. "I've tried telling her it's fucking important, but she just walks out of the room every time I start."

"I don't think I can make her do anything she don't want t-" Isaac starts dubiously.

"Oh, of course, you're one of those," Holly snarls. Isaac doesn't think he's ever seen her this angry before. "Have _you_ even been tested? Go with Chantille. That shit needs to be done as soon as possible."

"I don't need to be tested," Isaac says irritatedly, because he doesn't, for more than one reason.

"Everyone needs to be tested," Holly says, opening the fridge and closing it when she doesn't find anything interesting. "Especially if you plan on fucking Allison. The last thing that girl needs is to catch something."

"I'm not going to-" Isaac says and then gives up mid-sentence, because he knows she won't believe him. He stomps out of the room and goes upstairs to go his homework in peace.

But he does eventually admit to himself that Holly is right. Chantille should be tested.

"Hey, can I talk to you?" he asks later that night, after Chantille comes back from work, pushing Camden's door open a bit. Chantille is inside, toweling off her hair from her shower, though he can still smell the grease on her.

Chantille looks annoyed almost immediately. "She told you, didn't she?" she says wearily, throwing the wet towel on the bed and sitting down beside it. "Bitch. Some best friend she is."

"I thought Brianna was your best friend," Isaac says, because they were inseparable when he and Chantille lived together in LA, and shuts the door behind him.

Chantille lets out a snort of laughter and falls back onto the bed. "Yeah, like that didn't end about five seconds after I started tricking."

Isaac has no idea what to say to that. He shrugs uncomfortably and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"You agree with her?" Chantille asks the ceiling.

"Yeah," Isaac says.

"I'm fine," Chantille says, a little shakily. "I feel fine."

"You don't always feel sick."

"I just don't want to know. If it's the bug...I'd just rather not know."

Isaac closes eyes against the wave of fear that goes through him at the thought.

"Even if you do have it," he says, his throat dry with fear. "There's...there's pills you can take-"

"Yeah, with what money? We don't got insurance."

Isaac tries not to panic. He'd be able to smell it, wouldn't he? He's been able to identify sick people by scent before, right? He hadn't been able to tell Latisha had the clap, but maybe that was because she was already taking the pills?

"Holly has it," Chantille says softly, distracting him from his fear for a moment.

"What?" Isaac says furiously and Chantille raises her head to look at him, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, like you surprised. Don't look like that, she ain't fucked or bled on anyone while she been here, so relax."

"There anything else she not telling us?" Isaac says angrily, because he's sick of her causing problems. Thank God, she's leaving in a couple weeks.

Chantille doesn't respond, just stares up at the ceiling for a couple long seconds.

"Where would I even go?" she asks hoarsely. "No free clinics around here."

"We'll find one. I'll take you," Isaac says quietly, trying to sound reassuring.

Chantille curls into a ball and hides her face in her pillow. "Can you leave me alone please?" she says, tears in her voice and Isaac leaves quickly, closing the door behind him.

He runs into Latisha on the stairs.

"Where's Chantille?" she asks, holding up a piece of homework. "I want to show her my quiz."

"Later, Chantille's not feeling well," Isaac says and ushers her downstairs, but he can still hear Chantille's sobbing from the bottom floor.

They go to the nearest free clinic, forty miles southwest of Beacon Hills, and Isaac sits in the waiting room with a bunch of other terrified people and hates everything.

He gets home a couple days later to find the envelope with the testing results sitting on the kitchen table, Holly curled up on the couch watching TV with an usually serious expression on her face.

"Did you open it?" he asks, dreading the answer.

"No," she says. She's not lying, but she doesn't look at him, definitely worried.

"What is it?" Latisha asks, dropping her backpack on the floor and following Isaac into the kitchen.

"Nothing," he says, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder. "What have I told you about leaving your backpack on the floor?"

"Fine," Latisha grumbles and goes to hang it up in the closet.

Isaac spends the next two hours completely unable to do homework and has to dig his nails into the bed of his palms to prevent himself from opening the letter. It's private, he tells himself, Chantille would be mad if he did.

He has to go to work before Chantille comes home and he remains in a constant state of half-fear as he stands behind the counter. He gives two people the wrong change and completely blanks out when another asks for a slushie.

What are they going to do if Chantille's HIV-positive? She's right, there is no way they can afford the medication necessary to keep her alive, not without insurance. How long before she starts to whither away? Isaac's heard it happen to people in months, while others remain healthy for years without medication.

He gets a text message from Chantille at around eight and his hands shake so badly it takes two tries to open it.

_Gonaria, clymidia, trich, hiv-negative_ it reads and Isaac has to grab the counter to steady himself, the cell phone clattering to the floor, tears springing to his eyes. He gasps for breath, so relieved he doesn't even have time to hate himself for how easily he always cries.

Fuck. _Fuck_. She's going to be okay. She's going to be _okay_.

He gets another one from Holly a couple minutes later. _We have to celebrate_, it reads, _bring alcohol_.

It's a Thursday, but Isaac thinks fuck it, and grabs a bottle of vodka when he closes the gas station two hours later.

Chantille leaps into his arms when he gets home and Isaac is in such a good mood that he hugs her back instead of flinching away. Holly and Chantille get completely fucked up and wake Latisha at least twice, at which point Isaac drinks the rest of the bottle just to get rid of it.

"Why you let me drink so much?" Holly slurs as he helps her into his parent's bed beside Chantille, who's already snoring into her pillow. "I don't even like vodka. You have shit taste in booze, Isaac."

"Stop bitching, I got you what you wanted." Isaac says, rolling his eyes.

"Mmm, I'm too happy to let you ruin this," Holly says smiling, though her eyes are already closed. "S'nice that someone gets to get out."

She looks very young and vulnerable like this, reminding Isaac that she's only a couple years older than him.

He doesn't feel sorry for her. Unlike Chantille, Holly is a bad liar and wears her emotions all over her face, even as she tries to hide them with a front of disinterest and cruelty. It's like looking in a fucking mirror. He hates her for it.

* * *

April turns into May and Isaac struggles in Physics and English. Allison comes over when she can to help him, but he can tell it's difficult for her. She doesn't say anything, but it's pretty obvious that her father and friends are uncomfortable with their friendship and don't like her coming over.

Then one day things get even more complicated.

Isaac is grabbing books out of his locker a couple minutes before first period when he hears people murmuring at the end of the hall. He looks up to see people crowding around the door and then part as someone walks down the ha-

It's Allison, looking perfect as always in a yellow sundress, her hair pinned up in an elegant bun, and a small smile of her face that clearly states she gives absolutely zero fucks about what everyone's saying about her.

"-thought she died last semes-"

"-the hell, how is she back-"

"-ould've sworn they had a funeral for he-"

Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Malia are behind her, but Isaac only has eyes for her, fascinated by the contrast between her appearance now and the scared naked girl he'd run into in the woods. She sees him and her smiles widens, dazzling in its brightness, and Isaac abruptly feels very small. He is suddenly very aware that his left pant has a tear in it that reaches his mid-calf and that the hem of his t-shirt is stained with tomato sauce.

He tries to return her smile as she passes, but he's pretty sure it comes out more like a grimace and he cringes after she goes by, cursing himself for being such an idiot.

He's not sure why she's back in school; there's only two months left in the semester after all, but he guesses she's officially back to life now.

She's not in his History, Geometry, or French classes, but she's in the rest of them and it would be amusing if it wasn't so awkward. The teachers clearly have no idea how to react to her reappearance and completely fail at acting like nothing is different. Finstock blatantly stares at Allison the entire class, because he's a fucking idiot. By the end of the day Isaac's overheard dozens of different rumors about her so-called death, that she faked it and ran away from home, that she was kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery, that she was in league with her serial killer aunt, which _what_?

Isaac goes to the library at lunch, because he's a coward, and doesn't want to deal with the inevitable disappointment when she chooses to sit with her friends instead of him. He keeps his head down in the rest of his classes too, and doesn't linger when the final bell rings, escaping out into the parking lot. He tells himself that he just doesn't want her to get in trouble with her friends, but it's really that he has come to the painful realization that Scott McCall isn't the only one who's out of her league.

He has a text message from her that it looks like she sent at lunch when he turns on his phone after he gets home.

_Where are you?_ it says.

Isaac swears he is the only person in this stupid school that actually follows the rules and turns his fucking phone off.

_Sorry had homework_, he finally decides is a acceptable response. It's not like he can say _I would like to avoid getting my ass kicked by Scott for looking at his girl wrong_.

Scott already hates him. The last thing Isaac needs is Scott seeing Allison hanging around him at school and getting the wrong idea.

_What's the weirdest rumor about me you heard today?_ She replies, far too quickly for Isaac's comfort.

_Your serial killer aunt trained you as her apprentice and you faked your own death to continue her legacy_

_Wow, that is weird._

_Why does the entire school think your aunt is a serial killer_

_She is. Well, was._

_Oh, _Isaac sends and then stares down at their conversation before adding: _Your life is so fucked up_

_You have no idea_.

The next day, Isaac is sitting in the back of the cafeteria while most of the school is outside enjoying the warm weather, when Allison sits down in front of him, placing her tray down in front of him with a clatter.

"Hey," she says with a warm smile and Isaac can't help but smile back. "Why aren't you outside? It's beautiful out."

"The weather might be," Isaac replies dryly, taking a bite of his watery mashed potatoes. "The people on the other hand..."

"Yes, I can see you have quite a talent at avoiding people," she says, raising an eyebrow.

Isaac shrugs, trying to act more laid back than he feels. "Yeah, well, your friends hate me and I ain't too fond of them neither."

"They don't hate you," Allison says, rolling her eyes and sticking a fry in her mouth. "They just think you're going to snap and murder people."

"Well, don't sugarcoat it," Isaac says, scowling at the reminder. "How is coming back to school after being dead, by the way?"

"Lot's of extra work to do, everyone gossiping about me, teachers not knowing what to do with me," Allison says without skipping a beat. "Pretty much your average resurrection experience."

"Oh, well, at least there's that. It would be annoying if it was out of the ordinary."

They continue in this vein for a while, and it's the most fun Isaac's had at school in years. It's so nice to talk with someone over lunch. He's never really had friends at school, even in LA. Mostly just kept his head down and tried not to be noticed.

But of course, it can't last forever.

About halfway through the period, Lydia comes up to their table, looking like she would rather walk through a field of broken glass barefoot than be here.

"Allison," she says sweetly, coming up to stand at their table. "There you are. May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Sure," Allison says and scoots over, patting the place on the bench next to her, even though it is obvious that Lydia wanted to speak privately.

Isaac hunches a little in his seat, until Lydia gives him a disgusted look, at which point he glares at her right back.

"Somewhere else," Lydia says tightly and Allison sighs, giving Isaac an apologetic look.

"See you later," she says and Isaac grunts in response, bending over his tray further.

She picks up her food and follows Lydia out of the cafeteria, Lydia turning around to glare at him one more time before they turn the corner.

What a bitch, Isaac thinks. What was her problem? Besides the fact that he'd basically called her a slut that one time. It couldn't be the first time she'd heard that though, dressing like she did, Isaac thinks grumpily. Wearing short skirts and four inch heels might compensate for her short stature, but it also has the (unintended?) side effect of making her look like a hooker.

Allison doesn't come back to the cafeteria, not that Isaac's surprised, and so when the bell rings, he dumps his trash and walks down the crowded hall to his next class.

He feels the eyes on him first and doesn't even have to look up to see that it's Scott glaring at him. He does anyway and Scott's jaw tightens when they make eye contact, his expression clearly stating _Back off_.

Great, Isaac thinks, breaking his gaze and continuing on to his next class. He really has no luck at all.

**A/N: Isaac's life is so hard. Imagine not being able to masturbate for three years. :( Please review!**


	17. Scott VI

Allison is not answering her phone or any of his text messages. Scott tries to tell himself that she's just not near her phone or it's dead, but he can't help the way his leg shakes nervously in his seat. He's at work, filling out inventory forms, but his mind keeps being drawn back to Allison. And the fact that she's probably with Isaac right now.

To say that he doesn't like Allison hanging out with Isaac would be a massive understatement. It makes him incredibly nervous to think of her alone with him, and worse, actually _trusting_ him, when Scott has seen very little evidence that Isaac is a trustworthy person. Even if he does seem to have a soft spot for Allison, his willingness to use extreme violence to get what he wants is not something Scott wants around anyone he cares about. Not to mention he's still suspicious of Isaac taking advantage of Allison, not necessarily in a sexual way, just...he was the first person she saw when she came back to life. And who knew what coming back to life did to a person? There was no denying that she'd been vulnerable, still is, though she tries to pretend that everything has gone back to normal, and Scott doesn't like the thought that Isaac could be using that in some way or another. Worse, Allison blows him off whenever he tries to talk about Isaac with her and is always annoyed when their friends voice perfectly valid concerns about their friendship. Scott doesn't like it at all, but she's her own person and she can decide who she wants to be friends with. He can't just tell her to stop seeing Isaac.

The irony is that besides the fact that Allison keeps hanging out with a violent omega with a mean streak the width of the Mississippi, things are great between them. Now that Allison's back at school, she's more energetic, more _alive_, and more interested in going out and doing things. The sex is _awesome_. So he's been ignoring Lydia, Stiles, and even Malia's warnings, that Isaac is dangerous and/or trying to steal his girlfriend. He doesn't like Isaac and doesn't really understand why Allison think it's so important to be friends with him, but he can't help but notice that Isaac isn't exactly the one making the overtures here. He seems perfectly happy to avoid them all at school. Besides, isn't Isaac dating that Chantille girl? At least Scott thinks he is.

But she hasn't responded to any of his texts in over three hours and Scott's beginning to get worried. He texts Lydia to see if Allison's with her, but Lydia responds immediately that she hasn't seen her since the end of school. By the time he gets off work, Scott's really getting worried and when he closes for the night and finds Lydia and Stiles in the parking lot waiting for him, he panics.

"What happened?" he asks quickly, scared by the pale looks on their faces.

"You were the one who texted me," Lydia says, looking slightly confused. "And I texted Allison, and she wasn't responding either."

"Maybe her phone's dead," Scott says, trying to stay positive. "I didn't mean for you to come out here."

"We were going to go over there," Lydia says, a hard look coming over her face. Sometimes Scott feels like Lydia is even more protective over Allison than he is since she came back to life. That or she really hates Isaac.

"Is that really necessary?"

"Scott, we can't just ignore him and hope he'll go away," Stiles says furiously, fists clenched at his sides, body vibrating restlessly. "You have to talk to him and tell him to back off. Just because Allison's gone all Stockholm Syndrome over him doesn't me-"

"Stiles!" Lydia says, looking at him in shock, clearly not expecting his vitriolic attitude.

"Stiles, Allison knows what she's doing," Scott says sternly, and hopes that if he says it enough, he'll believe it too.

"Do we know that though?" Stiles asks, looking panicked and shit, the way his pupils have dilated is never a good sign. "She came back to _life_, Scott. We don't know what that does to people. What if this is some weird rebellion thing? And she's friends with _Isaac_, and we can't trust him not to-"

"Stiles," Scott says, coming close to grip both his shoulders. "Hey, man, it's going to be fine, okay?"

Stiles doesn't look like he believe him, but his breathing and heartbeat slow down. Scott doesn't let go, trying to radiate comfort. He doesn't think this is even about Allison, or Isaac. She doesn't even spend that much time with him, maybe going over to his house once or twice a week. Allison spends far more time with him and Lydia.

He glances over at Lydia, who's watching Stiles carefully with an air of intense concern. Lydia's been doing far better, is less cold and apathetic about the world around her since Allison's return. But it also means she's started noticing how much Stiles isn't getting better.

"I'm...I'm fine," Stiles says, waving him off, shaking himself almost like a dog. He still looks lost though, like he's not sure what just happened.

"I guess we could go see if she's there," Scott says hesitantly, though at this point he's more worried about Stiles than Allison.

"Right, let's go then," Stiles says brusquely and heads back across the parking lot to Lydia's car. Scott and Lydia exchange a worried glance, but follow him without comment. Stiles isn't going to calm down until he knows Allison is safe.

Scott knocks on the door of Isaac's house with trepidation, ready to face Isaac's fury, and is thrown off balance when small footsteps run to the door, and the little girl that Isaac lives with throws it open.

Her face falls the instant she sees them and she goes rigid, like she thinks if she doesn't move they won't be able to see her.

"Uh, hi," Scott says, taken aback by how afraid she seems to be of him. "Is Allison here?"

The little girl, he's forgotten her name, just stares at him like she's trying to figure out if she can slam the door shut before they can get inside.

"Latisha," a voice says from the second floor, and then there are feet coming down the stairs. "Why you just standing the-"

A blonde woman wearing jeans and a red t-shirt with a couple bleach stains on it who Scott's never seen before, though it must be Isaac's other roommate, stops in her tracks once she sees them, her face going very still.

"Who are you?" she asks suspiciously, taking the last few steps down quickly and pulling Latisha away from the door. "Go into the kitchen," she tells her and Latisha gives them one more wide-eyed look before she retreats further into the house.

"We're just looking for Allison," Scott says, wondering why they're acting like _he's_ the dangerous one in this house. What did Isaac _tell_ them about them?

"She's not here right now," the blonde woman says, though her shoulders seem to relax a bit at finding out their purpose for being here. She has faded track marks down both arms.

Scott can see a bit into the house behind her. It's dark and dusty, with a long hallway leading back next to the stairs to the kitchen. He can't imagine four people living in this house.

"Do you know where she is?" Scott asks when she doesn't volunteer any further information.

"Yeah, who are you exactly?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and Scott can tell there's no way she's going to let them inside to wait until Allison comes back.

"We're her friends," Stiles says quickly, gesturing between himself and Lydia. "And Scott's her boyfriend."

Scott just barely prevents himself from giving Stiles a weird look. Why did he think it was so important to specify that he was Allison's boyfriend?

"Shit, you actually exist?" the woman says incredulously. "I was sure Isaac was making you up. Damn, now I feel bad trying to get him to fuck her."

"What?" Scott snaps, furious at the idea of Isaac...doing _anything_ with Allison.

"Nah, it's totally my bad," the woman says, though she doesn't look particularly sorry about it. "'Sides, Isaac is too much of a prude to fuck anyone, no doubt. Believe me, he ain't touched your girl. You'd think he was a virgin with the way he act, but he's too pretty for that, living in a group home and all-" She cuts herself off mid-sentence, her eyes widening slightly, realizing that she's said too much. "What did you want with Allison again?"

"She hasn't been answering her phone," Scott says slowly, trying to figure out exactly what she meant by "he's too pretty for that."

The woman looks at them like she thinks their priorities are way off. "Uh, they just went to the laundromat, so they should be back soon."

Does Beacon Hills even have any laundromats? Scott wonders. He doesn't think so. Did that mean they were in another town?

"I...can tell her to call you when she come back," she continues when they don't respond, looking at them skeptically.

"That would be great," Lydia says, through her teeth, and Scott's not sure if she's trying to threaten the woman, or is just frustrated.

They turn around and make their way back to Lydia's car, and Scott hears the woman mutter: "What the fuck?" under her breath as she closes the door behind her.

They get into Lydia's car, but she doesn't start it and instead stares ahead in front of her with a strange look on her face.

"Did she..." she starts and then stops, looking confused. "Did she just imply..."

"Yeah, I think she did," Stiles says from the backseat, tapping his fingers restlessly against the leather seats. "What the hell? I guess it makes sense, considering how pissed he was at that little girl's foster fat-"

"Don't," Scott says, more harshly than he meant to, turning in his seat to look at both Stiles and Lydia head on. "Don't say anything, alright. Not to anyone. We don't talk about this."

Stiles and Lydia both look a little startled, but they don't argue and nod in agreement. Lydia starts the car as Scott turns back in his seat, staring in front of him hollowly.

He's angry, he realizes as Lydia drives him back to work to get his bike. Why would she say that to them, people she'd never met before? It didn't look like she did it on purpose, that it just slipped out, but the point still stands. That was so private, so...so completely irrelevant to what they were asking. Why would that even be on her mind? And there was the way she said it, so offhand, like she didn't realize it was a big deal, that it meant something more than a reason why Isaac wasn't sleeping with Scott's girlfriend. He didn't get the impression that she knew anything for sure, but she'd been completely fine with speculating and sharing that speculation with complete strangers. What kind of person was she? he thinks angrily, that she could say something like that without even realizing it. Wasn't she supposed to be Isaac's friend? How could she do that to him, tell people he had nothing more than an antagonistic relationship with something so personal? Worse, it seemed like she was really trying to convince Scott that Isaac wasn't trying to steal his girlfriend, and that had been one of the first things she'd thought to bring up.

Scott tries not to think about it and instead turns his thoughts back to Stiles. He's seems calmer now, Scott thinks, casting a surreptitious glance into the backseat to look at him, even though they hadn't found Allison. He hasn't had a full-blown panic attack since the witches left, but Scott still can't help feel that they need to do something, help him somehow. Even with Allison's resurrection, Stiles hasn't bounced back. He'll be fine one second and then the smallest thing will make him panic. It's Beacon Hills, Scott knows, though he tries not to think about it much. The constant stress of near-death experiences, running for their lives, and feeling responsible for protecting the lives of their fellow citizens has finally gotten to Stiles. Ideally he should leave town too, but Scott knows Stiles would never do that.

Lydia's phone rings three times while they're driving, but she doesn't even look at it. Scott had thought she'd reached an agreement with her mother: Lydia would continue to do what she wanted or otherwise she would go live with her father, who was unlikely to be convinced of the supernatural elements of Beacon Hills without definitive proof. But apparently things are not as set as he thought they were because when he tries to ask Lydia just says, "Don't," and refuses to explain what's going on.

She drops him off at work and Scott goes home, feeling drained and sick with worry for his friends, even though he knows they are infinitely better off now than they were a month ago.

Allison calls to check in about half an hour after he gets home, explaining that her phone was dead, as Scott expected. They spend a long time on the phone, talking about school and work, and their plans for the weekend. Allison doesn't really ever talk about Isaac with him, probably because she knows they don't get along, but this time the absence of his name is palpable. Scott doesn't really know why, though. He's never wanted to talk about Isaac less in his life.

**A/N: Some people have been mad about Scott's interactions with Isaac, so I hope this chapter gives you a little insight into his reasons for disliking Isaac, because they're good ones. Obviously we all know that Isaac is an adorable werewolf baby who needs to be protected from the world, but pretty much all that Scott's seen of Isaac is him being a dick with a filthy mouth who enjoys beating the shit out of people (they deserved it, but still, you can't deny Isaac goes way overboard.) Scott has no reason to trust Isaac. I think his reaction is 100% justified and I'm totally on his side on this one, because you can't go around insulting everyone and expect people to want to be friends with you (which is totally why Isaac does it, because he has problems.)**


	18. Allison III

"I'm gonna miss this food, for sure," Holly moans, shoveling another piece of steak into her mouth. Allison grins, pleased at her praise.

"It's not that hard, it just takes a while," Allison says, taking a bite of asparagus.

Chantille is cutting Latisha's steak into little pieces beside her, but Latisha keeps trying to take the piece before she's even done cutting and it's pretty adorable. Allison feels like she should be taking pictures, but it feels weird to whip out her smartphone when no one else at the table has one.

It's Holly's last night before she takes the Greyhound bus to Las Vegas tomorrow morning to live with her sister. Allison doesn't really know anything about Holly's sister-she doesn't really know anything about any of them-but she can tell that Holly is pretty nervous about it. If Allison had to guess, she would bet that Holly hasn't seen her in years.

But Holly is determined to make tonight about celebrating, which is why Chantille drafted her to make dinner, and there's a bottle of tequila on the counter for later.

Isaac has work and won't be back until after ten, but Allison still enjoys cooking and eating with Holly, Chantille, and Latisha. It's nice to have people to celebrate with. Scott has been increasingly worried about Stiles's mental state the past few days and Lydia got into another blowout fight with her mother. Things have been good with her dad, but only because they don't talk about all the difficult things that have piled up between them.

They eat ice cream for dessert and then Holly and Chantille attempt to teach Allison and Latisha how to play poker, with mixed results. By the time Isaac comes home to find them all lying on the living room floor, Chantille has beaten everyone three times and is snickering gleefully over her pile of M&Ms that they've been using as chips.

"Shit, is it that time already?" Chantille says, craning her head to get a look at the microwave clock in the kitchen. "C'mon, Latisha, you best be going to bed. You got school tomorrow."

"I don't want to!" Latisha whines, but her eyelids are drooping and it doesn't take much convincing for Chantille to herd her upstairs.

"Tequila time!" Holly says excitedly, stealing some of Chantille's M&Ms and getting up off the floor. She pops them into her mouth and goes into the kitchen to get the bottle of Tequila and plastic cups, grinning widely. "Now this is real booze, not that vodka shit."

"It tastes the same," Isaac says, rolling his eyes and falling back on the couch with an exhausted sigh.

"It tastes the same," Holly repeats mockingly, filling up a cup and handing it to Allison. "Ignorant motherfuckers gots to learn."

"Uh, I can't, I have to drive," Allison says, trying to refuse.

"Isaac can take you," Holly insists, forcing it into Allison's hands. "I seen him chug half a bottle of vodka and he still didn't get drunk."

Yeah, he wouldn't, Allison thinks, and turns to look at Isaac, who shrugs acquiescently, like the doormat he is.

"We have to wake up at six tomorrow, so don't get too fucked up," Isaac warns her as Chantille comes bounding down that stairs.

"Stop being a bitch," she tells him and sits down on the other side of the couch, accepting a cup from Holly. "It's Holly's last night, so we going to have some fun."

Chantille's definition of fun seems to be getting completely wasted and watching stupid reality TV and cracking up every five seconds. And because Allison has always been a happy drunk, she finds herself joining in on the fun.

"You should smile more," she tells Isaac, sometime after her third shot. "There's this saying, something about falling in love with your smile. Lydia said it. But then I think she was trying to apologize for making out with Scott that one time."

"What?" Isaac says, looking at her in bewilderment.

"Old news," Allison says, waving away his question. "Just smile. Don't smirk though. Stiles thinks you look like a serial killer when you smirk."

Holly shrieks with laughter at that, her head falling onto Allison's shoulder. They're all kind of squashed together on the couch in front of the TV and Allison grins happily at her reaction, even though Isaac's looking at them like they're all crazy.

Chantille reaches around to muffle Holly's laughter. "Damn, girl, shut up! Latisha be sleeping!"

"Okay, that's enough, I'm cutting you off," Isaac says, getting up and grabbing the bottle of tequila off the floor.  
"Nooo," Holly says, grabbing for it with uncoordinated hands, but Allison doesn't care and turns back to the TV, giggling nonsensically at a commercial about hand sanitizer.

"What are you going to do in Las Vegas?" Allison asks suddenly, turning to look at Holly.

Holly scrunches her face up and then leans back against the couch, crossing her arms behind her head. "Dunno. Get a job, I suppose. Try not to fuck up."

"What's your sister like?"

"Dunno that either. Ain't like I seen her for years. She married. Has a kid. Or maybe two, I don't remember."

"I'm going to miss you so much," Chantille sobs suddenly and practically throws herself onto Holly's lap.

Allison jumps in surprise at the sudden change in mood and stares as Holly starts crying too.

"Right," Isaac says, coming back into the living room, looking at Chantille and Holly with a mixture of embarrassment and pity. "Allison, it's almost one."

"Okay," Allison says, still staring at Holly and Chantille as they clutch one another, tears rolling down both of their cheeks. Neither of them are very emotional people and it is very strange to see them cry, even though intellectually she knows that everything is going to be different now. She always hated moving around so much as a kid, and she can't imagine how scared Holly must be to move to a new town with a sister she hasn't had contact with in years. Las Vegas is so far away, too.

"So...you want me to take you home?" Isaac says, shuffling awkwardly and giving her an expectant look.

"Oh, yeah," Allison says, remembering that her dad was probably expecting her. He hadn't called yet, probably because she told him she was going to be out late, but he would be worried if she didn't come home soon.

"Bye, Holly," Allison says absently, waving at her, and isn't bothered when Holly merely mutters "Bye," back, too busy hiding her face in Chantille's shirt to look up at her.

They go outside and Allison can't help but grin at the feeling of the cool night air on her face. It's so great to be alive. The witches killed a lot of people, but at least they did this. Allison would've hated to die so young, to miss all of this.

She gets into Isaac's car without difficulty- she's not that drunk after all, and looks out at the open road happily. Isaac gets in beside her and drops her bag into her lap.

"Oh, thanks," she says with a wide smile and Isaac coughs, clearly trying not to laugh at her. Allison doesn't mind, though.

They sit there in silence for a few seconds, Isaac looking at her expectantly.

"What?"

"I don't know where your house is," he tells her, looking amused.

"I don't live in a house," Allison says, digging through her bag for her cell phone. "And I'm not going home. Can you drop me off at Scott's house?"

"Okay..." Isaac says, sounding bemused. "I don't know where that is either. What about your dad?"

"I'm texting him now. I'll tell him I'm sleeping over at Lydia's. Now go straight!"

"Straight, right," Isaac says sarcastically and starts the car.

Allison's not sure she spells all the words right in her text and she spends most of the car ride looking over it to see if it's obvious she's drunk, Isaac constantly prompting her for directions.

When they finally pull up to Scott's house, Allison is giddy with the idea of seeing Scott and nearly drops her phone on the floor putting it back in her bag.

"All the lights are off," Isaac says, leaning over to look out the window at Scott's house. "It sounds like he's asleep."

That was kind of creepy, Allison thinks, and tell Isaac so. Isaac scowls at her.

"I'll just climb through his window," Allison says confidently, opening the car door and trying to step out until she realizes she hasn't undone the seatbelt.

"Allison, I don't think that's a good ide-"

"I'll be fine," Allison says cheerfully and gets out of the car, walking up the lawn to Scott's house.

She scales the pole that holds up the roof of Scott's porch and walks along it until she gets to Scott's bedroom window. Scott is asleep, curled up shirtless in his bed and Allison grins, knocking on the glass.

Scott shifts and Allison turns around to wave down at Isaac's car, which starts again and drives away down Scott's street.

"Allison?" Scott says from behind her, voice muffled by the glass.

She turns around to see him looking muddled and adorable and grins. Scott opens his window and moves back so Allison can slide inside, rubbing his eyes.

"What are you doing here? Did something happen?" he asks worriedly.

"No, I just wanted to see you," Allison says happily, lying down on Scott's pillow. "Can I stay here tonight? I told my dad I'm at Lydia's."

"Of course, but Allison...wait, are you _drunk_?" Scott asks, sounding appalled. He reaches out to touch her face gently and Allison smiles and grabs his wrist, pulling him down so he's lying against her.

"A little," she says, curling into his side. "We had tequila. I don't think I've had tequila before. It was kind of gross."

"How...how did you get here?" Scott asks worriedly, reaching down to take off her shoes and drawing the covers up over her. "You didn't drive, right?"

"Isaac dropped me off," Allison says, snuggling further into Scott. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying the attention. Scott's concern for her has always made her feel so safe. It's nice. He's always so nice. Sometimes Allison thinks she's not nice enough for him.

"Isaac," Scott says flatly and Allison opens her eyes, though she doesn't remember closing them, to look at him. He still looks worried.

"Yeah," Allison says, hooking her arm around Scott's neck to bring him closer. "Holly's leaving tomorrow, so we all got drunk. Except Isaac. He can't get drunk."

"No, he can't," Scott says, a little coldly.

"I don't understand why you hate him," Allison says, without thinking much about what she's saying. "He's a lot nicer than Derek, and you get along with him fine."

"I don't _hate _him," Scott protests, wrapping an arm around her waist. "He's just so rude. I don't understand how you're friends with him."

"Please, 95% of what comes out of Isaac's mouth is complete bullshit," Allison says with a yawn. "He's a total pushover, believe me. One time he let Latisha paint half his fingernails pink because she was bored."

Scott doesn't respond to that and Allison closes her eyes again, rubbing her cheek against his bare chest. It's so nice to be in Scott's bed, not like her cold, lonely bed at home. He's always so warm too.

He murmurs something, soft and warm, but Allison doesn't catch it, already floating off into sleep.

_It's the night she first ventured up the stairs of Isaac's house, pushing open his bedroom door. She stares down at his sleeping form, feeling warm and protected in his sweatshirt and Chantille's skirt, her bare feet light against the floorboards. Allison walks through his dark room to his bed and shakes him awake. _

_"Allison?" he mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Wha's wrong?"_

_In real life she asked him if she could sleep in his bed, but this time what comes out is "Do you want to have sex with me?"_

_He does. So they do._

_Allison groans and wraps her legs around his waist as he fucks her, hard and deep and _perfect_, his teeth on her neck and hands cupping her breasts. She digs her fingernails into his bare shoulders and moves with him desperately, trying to get just the right rhythm. It's good in the way dream sex always is, no worrying about condoms or lack of lubrication. Everything feels good, Isaac's dick inside her, his hands on her, her hands on him. It's good, really good, but just not quite enough-_

_She flips them over so Isaac is on his back, his pretty blue eyes going wide as she rides him, sliding her hands down his bare chest. He moans her name, arching desperately under her, and yeah, it's perfect, just like that, just like that, just a little more, he feels so good inside her and she's so close-_

Allison wakes up to sun streaming through the window onto her face. She scrunches her face up, trying to remember where she is, before she turns to see Scott curled into her shoulder. She smiles at him and pets his hair softly before turning to look at the clock. It's just before seven, so they have some time before they have to get ready for school.

Allison shifts uncomfortably and realizes she's wet. Like really wet. _Soaking_. She snakes a hand down to the hem of her skirt and wonders what Scott would think if she masturbated right next to him in his bed. Scott's no prude, but it's still kind of weird and considering the dream she just had...

Isaac. She's honestly never thought of him like that before. She supposes he's good-looking, tall and lean. Pretty, really. He has nice shoulders. She remembered him catching her when she'd fallen in the bathroom, the only time he's ever purposefully touched her, and the way his chest felt, his arms around her.

Shit, Allison thinks as another wave of lust goes though her, and gives up on the idea of touching herself. After all, Scott is right here and he's exactly what she needs if she wants to get rid of strange tequila-induced dreams.

"Scott," she murmurs, leaning over to kiss his neck. He's on his stomach, his hand on the small of her back, mouth open and he gives a little grunt as she shakes him, running her hands down his back. "Scott, c'mon, wake up."

Scott groans and lifts his head blearily, "Allison?"

"C'mon," she murmurs, pushing him over onto his side. She hooks a leg over him and grinds her hips against his, sucking a hickey into his neck.

"Oh," Scott gasps and kisses her, wet and messy, even though her breath is probably horrible. His hands slide up the back of her shirt and Allison moans, grinding harder against his erection and thinking yes, yes, like that.

She kicks off the covers and pushes him over onto his back, like in her dream. Scott's eyes go wide as she pulls off her shirt, like he hasn't seen her naked before, and then they squeeze shut as she straddles him and rubs against him, groaning at the friction. She wants it like this, Allison decides, pleasure kindling in her lower abdomen. They don't usually do it like this-it's always been easier for Scott to be on top, but Scott looks so good beneath her, wide-eyed and flushed with arousal. She wonders how good he'd look tied to the headboard and _God_, that thought sends another wave of pleasure through her and she needs him _now_.

Allison slides off him to grab at the bottom drawer of his bedside table for the condoms and Scott moans, grabbing her before she can get to them.

"Allison," he says through gritted teeth, his fingers hot on the bare skin of her waist. "We can't. My mom is in the kitchen."

"Then you'll have to be quiet," Allison whispers flirtatiously, turning around to kiss him and taking the opportunity to pull him out of his boxers, giving him a firm stroke.

"Allison," Scott moans, throwing his head back and she kisses down his chest and licking into his navel, which she knows always drives him crazy. "Allison, c'mon, the bed, she'll hear the bed."

He's right. Allison lets out a groan of frustration and lets her head fall onto his stomach, his dick twitching against her shoulder.

"Right," she groans, hating the fact that they don't have a place to go to have sex. "Then I need to..."

She snakes a hand down her skirt into her underwear and rubs at her clit clumsily, so wet it's hard to get any friction.

"Shit," she hears Scott moan and he pulls her up and then rolls them over. Allison gasps as he pushes up her skirt and slides down her body, holding her thighs apart with his broad hands.

"You have to be quiet," he orders, looking her in the eye firmly before pulling off her underwear. "And take off your bra."

"Yes, sir," Allison says with a grin, saluting him and throwing her bra across the room.

"Oh, shit, Allison," Scott moans once he gets her underwear off, his mouth so close to her between her legs she can feel his breath, but he's still. Not. Doing. Anything. "You're _soaked."_

"Yes, yes, I am, now do som-ah!"

Allison has to slap her hand over her mouth as he drags his tongue over her to prevent any noise from coming out and rocks her hips up desperately.

"Your fingers," she gasps out after a minute or two. Scott is licking into her with enthusiasm, but it's not enough, if she can't have his dick then she has to have _something_. "C'mon, Scott, your fingers, give them to me!"

Scott, always attentive to her needs, complies, his fingers nice and long inside of her, and drags his mouth up to her clit. Allison comes like that a couple minutes later, her hand clenched over her mouth to prevent her moans from escaping, Scott's hands firm and soothing on her hips as he works her through it.

Allison's halfway through returning the favor when Scott's phone's alarm goes off and Scott groans, making a halfhearted attempt at turning it off. Allison pulls off and glances up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Allison," Scott whimpers, his hips jerking up automatically, but she waits until he gets the alarm off before sucking him down again, grinning wickedly at the desperate look on Scott's face, the way the fingers of his left hand are clutching the sheets.

"Scott!" Melissa yells from downstairs. "Get up! You're going to be late!"

"Yup, I-I'm up!" Scott shouts back, reaching up to grip the window ledge, his abs flexing as he grits his teeth.

Yeah, you are, Allison thinks smugly.

Allison figures they should probably get a move on and reaches down to rub at the spot behind his balls that never fails to make Scott go off like a rocket.

Less than a minute later Scott is coming and stiffing his groans in his pillow. Allison pulls off when he makes that adorable whining sound and wipes her mouth, crawling up the bed to lie beside him, grinning at the way he pants heavily.

"Oh, my _God_," he moans when he regains his breath again. "I'm never going to be able to look her in the eye again."

"It could have been worse," Allison says, rubbing his shoulders consolingly. "You could've told her you were coming."

Scott makes a horrible sound and buries his face in his pillow. Allison grins and leaps out of bed, full of energy all of the sudden, and goes into his bathroom to steal his toothbrush.

She has to climb out his window again before breakfast in last night's clothes and finds a bunch of angry messages from her dad on her phone as she waits around the corner for Scott to pick her up for school, so she forgets all about her weird sex dream. She's had weirder, anyway.

* * *

Chantille is subdued after Holly's departure and Allison tries to go out of her way to be nice to her, even though they have virtually nothing in common. At least she seems to have made some new friends at work that she sometimes hangs out with at night, otherwise Allison would be worried that she's lonely. Before Holly left, it seemed like Chantille didn't have any friends in Beacon Hills besides Isaac and they all avoid speaking about their lives in LA. Allison doesn't know the details, but even the bare bones of what Scott told her about the incident with Latisha's foster father are horrific and Allison knows better than to ask for specifics.

Toward the end of May, Allison finds the paint cans in her closet. She'd planned to paint her room a light gray, but it doesn't seem necessary anymore, so she gives them to Chantille. The walls in Isaac's house are in pretty bad shape, chipped and stained with mildew-they could definitely use a new paint job.

They make sort of a project out of it, moving all of the furniture out of Chantille and Latisha's room, tapping down wide pieces of paper to protect the wood floors from the paint, and opening all the upstairs windows. They're all pretty bad at painting in smooth strokes, but Allison doesn't bother to try and correct them, even though she winces at Latisha practicing her spelling in large handwriting all over the walls with a smaller paint brush.

"We gonna do the ceiling too?" Isaac asks, looking up at it skeptically, holding one hand to his nose. The fumes seem to really irritate his werewolf nose. "Won't it drip?"

"Not if you do it right," Allison says, pushing the roller up and down the wall steadily. They've done about a quarter of the room now and somehow Allison has paint all over her hands already. At least she doesn't have a rather prominent streak on her cheek like Chantille does.

"Latisha, that's enough!" Chantille says from the other side of the room. "Leave some paint for the rest of us. Isaac, you gonna help, or are you gonna find something else to complain about?"

"The second one, definitely."

Allison rolls her eyes and dips her roller back into the paint while Isaac and Chantille continue to snipe at each other. She thinks sometimes Isaac just enjoys being difficult.

She's just working around the edge of one of the windows with Latisha when a loud knocking comes at the door.

"I got it!" Isaac says, taking the opportunity to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

"Motherfucker, you know I can't reach the top on my own!" Chantille yells after him as he runs down the stairs, taking them two a time by the sound of it. The smell must really be bothering him. "Get your white ass up here and help us before I decide to-"

That's when the shots go off.

**A/N: I just love cliffhangers too much to resist, guys, I'm sorry. It just had to be done. Please review!**


	19. Isaac X

For a second, Isaac doesn't understand what happened. There's something aching in his stomach, so he looks down to see blood blossoming onto his white shirt in two places. He doesn't quite understand so he looks back up, sees the barrel of the gun and the two men, one white, one black, wearing dark jackets despite the early summer heat.

"What-" he manages to get out, before the white guy shoves him back into the house. Isaac's legs collapse under him and he flies back into the hallway into a heap, his stomach burning with white hot pain.

They shot me, he thinks stupidly, doubling over to clutch his stomach. He hears them say something, the door shutting behind them, but his ears are ringing and the pain in his abdomen encompasses everything and he can't make anything else out.

There are hands grabbing him and Isaac tries to fight, but they're too strong and he can only roar in pain as they drag him into the living room.

He hears Chantille yelling upstairs and then his head is slammed into the floor. White lights dance in front of his eyes as he watches the white guy go up the stairs.

No, he thinks, what were they going to do with Chantille and Latisha? With Allison?

"Run," he tries to shout, but only a yell of pain comes out and the black guy kicks him in the stomach, sending more blood gushing out onto the floor and Isaac writhing in agony, his face wet with tears.

The white guy comes back down, his gun pointed at Chantille, Latisha, and Allison. Allison's face is pale, her nose bleeding badly and the intruder has paint of the side of his jacket-had she tried to fight him off?

"Isaac!" Chantille screams, her eyes wide and terrified, and tries to run to him, but the white guy backhands her in the face, sending her crashing into the stairs.

"I said, nobody move!" the white guy yells and Allison grabs Latisha close, pressing her face into her stomach protectively. She's looking at him though, eyes panicked.

"Who are they?" the black guys asks. He's older than the white guy, with graying hair at his temples, but his back is ramrod straight and he holds himself like a soldier. He has a square jaw and there is absolutely no emotion in his eyes as he scans the room with piercing eyes.

"Human," the white guy, medium height, floppy brown hair, probably mid-twenties, answers. He has green eyes that are a little too close together for comfort and Isaac can tell by the smirk on his lips and the tone of his voice that he's relishing every second of this. He keeps his gun pointed at Chantille as she gasps for breath against the stairs, having no compunctions whatsoever about holding three unarmed girls hostage.

"Get them into the basement," the black guy orders, turning back toward Isaac with a disgusted look on his face, like he's a bug he's going to enjoy stepping on. "And get their cell phones! We don't have time for mistakes!"

No, Isaac thinks, fear overriding the pain in his stomach for a second, no, he couldn't take them down there. What was he going to do with them?

"You-" he snarls, trying to struggle to his feet. If ever there was a use for being a werewolf, _this is the time_, but he can't get his claws to lengthen, his fangs to come out, the pain is so bone deep. "Don't you dare-I'l kill you. You touch the-"

The black guy kicks him again and when Isaac tries to lash out at him he takes out a long plastic stick. Isaac has a split second to wonder if he's going to hit him with it before thousands of volts are coursing through his body, so debilitating that he can't even scream, just writhe against the floor. He's never felt pain like this before, not even when his dad threw him down the basement stairs by his hair when he was nine or the time some asshole tried to mug him a couple months after he became a werewolf and stabbed him in the side with a switchblade when he tried to fight back.

Chantille keeps screaming, but it gets farther away and Isaac tries not to sob as he hears the basement door open.

"Now, you're going to tell us where the rest of your pack is, and I'll kill you quickly," the black man says, with no emotion in his voice.

Isaac's vision is blurry from the pain, so he can't see his expression, but the crackle of electricity from the black stick is threatening enough to get his point across.  
"I don't..." he says, having difficulty getting the words out, "have...a pack."

The man jabs him with the stick again and Isaac bites his lip so hard he tastes blood as he jerks helplessly through it.

"Don't fuck with me, boy," the man says, kicking Isaac over onto his back and jabbing him again. "Tell me who they are or you'll live just long enough to regret it."

What do they want? Isaac thinks as he writhes, agony coursing through him like fire. They know he's a werewolf, know that he wouldn't die from the two bullets in his stomach. But why do they think he has a pack?

"We know there are other werewolves here," the man says, kicking him in the stomach and circling him like a vulture circles its dying prey. "You're even working with Chris Argent, some great hunter he ended up being. Now who is your alpha?" He shocks Isaac again. "Who are the other wolves in your pack?"

Allison's dad? What does he have to do with this?  
"Go...fuck yourself," Isaac snarls, finally feeling his fangs lengthen. "What are you doing with them?"

He expects the shock of electricity this time, but he manages to catch sight of the white guy coming back into the room before his vision goes all blurry again and his muscles spasm.

Relief washes through him even as he writhes in pain. He can still hear Chantille yelling for him, Latisha crying, and Allison whispering for him to be strong, that everything is going to be okay. The white man hadn't done anything to them, just locked them in the basement. They weren't interested in them, only in him.

"He's not talking yet?" the white guy says, looking down at Isaac dispassionately. His lips curls almost comically, not that Isaac can find much humor in this situation.

"Go to hell!" Isaac gasps, spitting blood at his feet and gets another jab, right on one of his bullet wounds, for his disrespect.

"This is pointless," the white guy says when Isaac regains his breath enough to start sobbing in pain. He sounds bored. "Louise said the instinct to protect the alpha is too strong, anyway. We should be going after Argent. We'll be able to get it out of him."

"Louise is not nearly as creative as I am," the black guy responds calmly. "And Martin said Argent is off limits for now. We'll deal with him after we've eliminated the pack."

He slams his foot down on Isaac's stomach and he screams, the sound forced out of his throat before he can even think about trying to bite it back. He can actually feel his blood spilling out over his stomach onto the floor.

"Talk," the black man orders, and Isaac knows what he wants. He wants Scott and Malia, probably their non-werewolf friends too. But why? Clearly it's to hurt them, maybe even kill them. Isaac doesn't think they're feds. He'd always worried about slipping up and finding himself locked in a government lab somewhere, but these people aren't here to take him away. They're here to hurt him. Probably kill him.

Isaac doesn't want to die.

"What do you want?" he gasps through the agony in his stomach, even though he already knows. Maybe if he can buy enough time, his wound will heal enough to take them by surprise.

"Names and places, werewolf," the white guy says with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. "Of all your little friends."

"Or what?" Isaac snarls, because even four years in a group home still didn't teach him how to keep his mouth shut.

The black guy jabs him in the ribs with a high voltage of electricity and holds it down this time. Isaac arches off the ground, his mouth stretching in a silent scream. It overwhelms everything, even as Isaac tries to pretend he's somewhere else, somewhere away from his body, an old coping mechanism he used when his dad went too far beating the shit out of him or locked him in the freezer all night.

Just when Isaac thinks he can't take it anymore, that he's going to crack, there's a huge crash from the door. Body still twitching jerkily, Isaac turns his head to the entrance of the living room, blinking through tear-filled eyes.

Scott's standing in the doorway with a fully-developed werewolf face, his eyes glowing like red hot embers. He lets out a roar of rage that even manages to send shivers down the spine of Isaac's battered body and barrels towards the men. The black guy raises his gun and fires, but it hits Scott in the shoulder and doesn't slow him down at all. He throws him against the wall and the punches the white guy in the face. The white guy goes down like a ton of bricks and Scott dodges the black guy's thrust with the black stick and throws him against the wall again so hard he breaks the plaster, barely missing the TV in the process.

There is beat where Scott gives them a cursory look to make sure they're unconscious and Isaac gapes at him in shock. Then Scott turns to look at him with his monstrous face and Isaac tries unsuccessfully to scramble away with a gasp, not wanting to be next.

"Isaac?" Scott says, coming forward to kneel at his side and looking down at his bloody stomach. "Oh, my God, are you okay?"

Isaac is too terrified to answer, staring at Scott's werewolf face in panic. He tries to put some distance between him and Scott, he really does, but his limbs don't have any strength in them, still twitching from the high voltage he was subjected to.

"Isaac?" Scott says, looking concerned. "Where's Allison?"

He hasn't attacked yet, but it doesn't mean that he won't and Isaac needs to get away from him. But before he can try and push himself across the floor with his feet, Scott reaches out for his arm with a clawed hand and Isaac flinches.

"Don't," he says, his voice hoarse from screaming, hoping that Scott will deem him unworthy of killing if he's pathetic-looking enough. Not that that's stopped Isaac from trying to kill everyone in sight before.

Scott's arm freezes and he frowns, a strange look on his werewolf face. He hasn't attacked yet, Isaac realizes, nor does he seem to want to. He looks perfectly in control, despite his monstrous visage. How is he doing it?

"Hey, be careful," he even says, when Isaac pushes himself up on shaky arms, and his eyes go brown again, fangs disappearing, and face shifting back to normal without the slightest effort.

Isaac gapes at him and tries to speak, but then it's like his body has abruptly remembered that he's been shot and electrocuted and he whimpers in pain, arms unable to support his weight and he collapses onto his back again.

"Isaac?!" Scott says, head swimming over him and Isaac squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't want Scott to see him cry.

"The basement," he manages to grit out, fingers scrambling helplessly against the floorboards for something to hold on to as he tries not to sob at the pain that's coursing through him, in his arms and legs, but mostly in his stomach. "They...They locked them in the basement."

"Allison!" Scott shouts, but he doesn't move from Isaac's side. "Are you okay?"

"We're okay," Allison replies shakily, though she doesn't bother raising her voice, knowing that Scott will be able to hear her. "Is Isaac alright?!"

"Yeah, just wait a minute!" Scott shouts back and Isaac tries to take very shallow breaths to avoid using his diaphragm. The witches' sword was far worse than this, he tells himself, just a little bit longer, just hold out a little bit longer and he'll heal.

"He can hear you?" he hears Chantille demand, but before he can figure out what that means, Scott's hand clamps around his left forearm.

Isaac snaps his eyes open and tries to jerk away, the fear that Scott is going to hurt him coming back in full force.

"Don't-" he says again, panicked, but Scott's grip is too strong and Isaac's eyes widen in horror as he watches the veins in his left arm turn black and-

And for a second, just for a second, the pain disappears. Isaac sags to the floor, tears brimming in his eyes and he gasps in air in relief. He hears Scott hissing, but all he can focus on is the bliss of not feeling the bullets in his gut. It doesn't last long though, and Isaac bites back a cry as the ache starts in his stomach again, tensing. But before it can get to its earlier level of agony, Scott's fingers are tightening around his forearm again and Isaac feels the same lightness, the lack of pain in his body again. He tips his head against the floor towards Scott and opens his eyes, watching as the black in his veins travels out of his body and into Scott's. Scott's face is screwed up, hissing under his breath, like he's the one in pain now, like...Like he's taking away his pain.

"Scott?" Allison says frantically. "Scott, what's happening?"

"Just a minute!" Scott shouts back, shaking a little now and he opens his eyes to look down at Isaac.

"Isaac?" he says carefully. "I'm going to go let them out and then I'll be right back, okay? Don't try to move."

And then he's releasing Isaac's arm and getting to his feet, whirling around the corner before Isaac can warn him not to let Chantille and Latisha see him like this.

Isaac closes his eyes as he hears Scott open the door and tries not to think about what he might see down there, what any of them might see, and instead focuses on the numbness that's spread through his body, wiping his eyes with a shaky hand. There a vague ache in his stomach now, but it's manageable, and Isaac thinks he'll probably be able to get up in a few minut-

"Isaac!" Chantille screams, hurdling into the living room and Isaac doesn't have the strength yet to try and hide his injuries. She comes to a stop in front of him, eyes widening as she takes in his bloody stomach.

"Chantille, wait," Allison says, coming up behind her and holding her back from going to him. "He's going to be fine, okay?"

Her nose is still bleeding, her hands bloody, presumably from trying to staunch the blood, but her voice is very calm, movements controlled.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Chantille yells, her voice going high-pitched and terrified. "We need to call an ambulance!"

"'M okay," Isaac mumbles and tries to get up again, but his limbs won't cooperate and he gives a groan of pain as his gut twinges.

Scott comes back into the room and this time Isaac doesn't flinch when he drops down at his side again, gripping his arm.

"She doesn't know?" he asks, looking between Isaac and Chantille in surprise.

"Know what?" Chantille yells, trying to fight her way out of Allison's grip. Isaac tries to be glad that at least Latisha isn't in the room. "What are you doing to him?!"

"Chantille, he's going to be okay, I promi-"

Isaac doesn't quite manage to bite back a low whine of pain as he feels his body pushing the bullets out of his stomach and Scott reaches down to grab his hand. Isaac's grabs it back automatically and holds onto Scott's hand tightly as he shakes against the last remnants of pain as his body heals.

"Chantille, it's fine," he grits out, squeezing his eyes shut and then sagging against the floor again as Scott takes the last of his pain.

"It's not fine, you been shot! Allison, let go of me, we have to-"

"Chantille," Isaac says breathlessly, opening his eyes to look at her tear-stained face, the water from her eyes causing the streak of paint on her cheek to run. " Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to."

Chantille goes still, staring down at him with incredulity.

"What?" she snaps, looking dumbstruck. "What does that have to do with-" She stops, turning to look at Allison. "You knew," she says slowly, and then turns to look at Scott. "You could hear her from downstairs..." Her eyes dart to Isaac again. "But how-"

Isaac jerks his hips to the side with difficulty and the bullets fall off his stomach and onto the floor with a clunk, rolling out from under his shirt.

Chantille's mouth falls open, but she stays silent, looking at Isaac like she doesn't even recognize him. That hurts more than Isaac expects.

"Chantille!" Latisha calls tearfully from the hallway. "What's happening?"

"Just stay there, baby!" Chantille says, not taking her eyes off Isaac. Allison lets go of her arms, presumably deciding that she isn't going to try and call an ambulance and goes over to look at the unconscious bodies of the intruders.

"You healed? Do you wanna get up?" Scott asks him, looking down at Isaac's stomach in concern. He's still holding his hand.

Isaac gives an affirmative grunt, letting go of his hand in embarrassment. He manages to stand up by himself, Scott hovering worriedly behind him, but once he gets up there he suddenly becomes dizzy. He loses his balance and Scott has to grab him around the waist to keep him upright.

"Okay, c'mere," Scott says, ignoring Isaac's weak attempt to squirm out of his grip. He walks Isaac over to the couch and sets him down gently. Isaac stares up at him uncertainly. Why is he doing this? He knows he'll heal. Why does he even care?

"Who are they?" Chantille asks shakily, looking towards the intruders.

"Hunters," Allison says, looking down at them with cold fury on her face. "They sprayed wolfsbane in our faces."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Scott asks, going over to her and touching her face gently. It looks like her nose is broken and Scott cups her face, drawing black lines away from her as well.

"I'm fine, Scott," Allison says quietly, her face very soft.

She puts her hand over his and pulls it away, before leaning down to take her cell phone out of the white guy's pocket.

"I need to call my dad," she says brusquely. "We need to get them out of here before they wake up."

"Why did they-" Chantille says, breathing heavily, looking lost and so completely out of her depth. "What did they want?"

"You," Isaac says, looking towards Scott, trying to sit up straighter. "They mentioned your dad too, Allison. Something about how they were going to go after him later."

Allison's face tightens and she looks down at the man at her feet like she's thinking about kicking him.

"Why would hunters go after your dad?" Scott asks, bringing up his hand to the hole in his shoulder and wincing. Isaac had completely forgotten that he'd gotten shot too, even though his button down shirt is a light gray and the wifebeater under it is white. The blood is clearly visible.

"Hunters?!" Chantille yells furiously, glaring at all of them. "What are you talking about?! What the fuck is going on?!"

"Hunters?" Isaac repeats slowly. "Hunters of what?"

He already knows the answer though, and Scott's apologetic look only confirms his fears. Of course. Why is he even surprised?

"Dad?" Allison is saying. "I need you to come to Isaac's house right now. Hunters just broke in here looking for all of us. No, I'm fine. I called Scott before they took away my phone and he took care of them, but we need to figure out what to do with them. Just two."

"They talked about others," Isaac says, gingerly touching his abdomen.

"There might be others," Allison says, turning to look at Isaac with worried eyes, though her face is impassive. "They mentioned your name, too."

"I'm on my way," Allison's dad says and Isaac can here him moving around over the phone. "But we have nowhere to hold them. Call Stilinski. What's Isaac's address?"

Allison rattles off his address and then says "Okay, be careful. See you soon," and hangs up.

Chantille walks slowly towards Isaac, circumventing the blood stain on the floor, and sits down next to him carefully, looking down at his bloody shirt worriedly.

"Don't," Isaac hisses, when she reaches for the hem of his shirt. "It's fine."

Chantille doesn't say anything, but her eyes are wide and worried. Then she turns to glare at Scott.

"They were after you?" she asks angrily. "Why?" She looks back at Isaac again and he feels a pain in his chest at the mistrust in her eyes that has nothing to do with his healed wounds. "Is he like you?"

Isaac looks away and nods shortly, not wanting to look at her in the eyes.

"So they hunting you?" Chantille asks, sounding a little hysterical and then leans over to hide her face in her hands. "_Shit_, Isaac."

Scott is calling the Sheriff and Allison is prowling between the two bodies, tense and alert for the slightest sign that they're regaining consciousness, both of them pretending not to be listening to their conversation.

"Chantille!" Latisha wails from the hallway and Chantille snaps her head back up again.

"Just wait there!" she yells frustratedly.

"Uh, I can-" Allison starts, gesturing towards the hallway.

"No, you don't!" Chantille says, turning her ire on her. "You in this too, huh? And him?" She says, gesturing towards Scott in disgust, proving she does indeed remember him as the boy who got Isaac arrested. "What the fuck did you do that you have people trying to do you like this?"

Her face goes slack in realization and she whirls back to Isaac. "You didn't...those murders the last month, was you involved in that?"

"No!" Isaac says quickly, shocked that it would even cross her mind. He didn't even know she knew about the murders. "Well, yeah, but not what you thinking. I didn't kill anyone!"

Chantille looks at him carefully for a second, before turning to Scott and Allison suspiciously. "What about you?"

"What?" Scott says, looking shocked and wronged. He looks like an adorable puppy, a disturbing fact considering Isaac just saw him take down two fully grown men in seconds.

"We stopped them," Allison says quietly, trying to wipe the drying off blood of her face carefully. "It was unrelated anyway."

Chantille shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath, leaning down to hide her face in her lap.

"You did say this town was your kind of weird," she mumbles, and then gets up off the couch to go out in the hall to comfort Latisha without a backwards glance.

Isaac tries not to listen to her sobbing and turns back to Allison and Scott.

"They'll be here soon," Scott says reassuringly and then pauses, a little awkwardly before continuing. "You should tell her everything. Believe me, it is much easier that way."

Isaac bites back a rude reply, that Scott should mind his own fucking business, reminding himself that he just saved his life. Again.

Fuck.

Chantille comes in through the kitchen door with a handful of damp paper towels. She hands one to Allison and then goes over to Isaac, trying to blot out the blood on his shirt.

"You need one?" she asks Scott, gesturing towards his shoulder.

"Nah, I'm fine," Scott says, rotating his shoulder carefully until the warped bullet falls onto the floor.

Chantille bites the inside of her cheek, but doesn't comment, turning back to Isaac.

"You need a new shirt," Chantille says shortly, getting up and throwing the bloody paper towels on the ground. "And we need to get that cleaned up," she says, pointing to the blood stain. "I don't want Latisha seeing that."

"There's industrial strength cleaner under the sink," Isaac says shakily, not sure what to make of her lack of reaction.

"Shirt," she demands, holding out her hand for his wrecked shirt. Isaac's eyes widen, because she knows he doesn't like to be shirtless in front of other people and she sighs, dropping her hand and going out into the hallway to get Latisha. She takes her upstairs, not letting her look into the living room, shushing her questions about what was happening, and comes back down with more damp paper towels and another one of his shirts.

Isaac needs to invest in black shirts next time, he thinks dourly as he hastily strips off his shirt and wipes the blood off his abdomen, hunching his shoulders defensively. Living in this town he keeps getting blood on them.

"This isn't the first time this's happened," Chantille says slowly, as he puts on the new shirt. It's not really a question.

"What?"

"Don't fuck with me," Chantille says coldly. "You have industrial strength cleaner under the sink. Why?"

Isaac bites his lip. "The people who were doing the killing," he says, shrugging uncomfortably. "I got in their way."

Chantille's hands form fists at her side, but she doesn't ask for details. "You said there were others," she says calmly instead, looking at Scott and Allison. "Are we safe?"

"They're not after you," Isaac says, but this doesn't seem to reassure Chantille and her lips thin in frustration.

The front door swings open and Isaac tenses, Chantille nearly jumping a foot in surprise. It's just Allison's dad, though. Isaac's really only seen him the once, when they went up against the witches, and doesn't really know anything about him, but just the way he walks into the room and scans them all, confirms the fact that he's in this too. The length of rope over his arm and gun on his hip are also important indicators.

"Are you alright?" he says, going to Allison immediately, looking at her broken nose.

"I'm fine, dad," she says, waving away his hands. "They weren't interested in me."

Allison's dad's eyes dart over Isaac on the couch, and Chantille holding his bloody shirt, and then down at the unconscious hunters.

"What did they say?" he asks, taking the rope off his shoulder and cutting it into pieces with the huge knife at his side. "Exactly?"

Scott and Allison turn to him and Isaac tries not to curl back into the couch.

"They were looking for Scott and his...pack," Isaac says slowly, trying not to cringe at the word. "And they said they would deal with you afterwards."

Allison's dad's face tightens, but he doesn't respond, tying the black guy's hands behind his back deftly before he moves on to the white guy.

"Chris, what's going on?" Scott asks impatiently. "Why are hunters after you? And why would they go after Isaac?"

"He has a record," Allison's dad says shortly, removing the hunters' weapons now. "They probably thought he's a part of your pack."

Isaac wrinkles his nose in disgust. He really wishes they would stop using that word. Next to him, Chantille stares down at the pile of the hunters' weapons on the floor, looking ill.

"Dad," Allison says warningly and Allison's dad sighs, standing up to look at her.

"It was one thing to say I've retired," he says, looking weary all of the sudden. "But an Argent renouncing the code is another thing entirely. Araya found out back in November. Now it looks like word has spread. She may have even sent them here. The murders over the past few months probably didn't help."

Isaac has no idea what he's talking about and opens his mouth to say so, but Allison's father turns to Scott then with such a serious look on his face that Isaac's question dies in his throat.

"They'll be coming for you," he tells Scott gravely. "And you need to be ready."

Scott's face tightens and his shoulders stiffen. He suddenly looks much taller than he really is and Isaac is reminded yet again how important it is not to get on Scott McCall's bad side.

A car pulls up next to his house and Isaac looks out the window to see that it's a patrol car. The Sheriff and his blond deputy get out and approach the house.

"The Sheriff's here," Scott tells Allison and her dad. "He's going to arrest them for attempted murder, so no bail."

Chantille goes to sit down next to Isaac on the couch when the Sheriff and his deputy come in, looking nervous. She's never been comfortable around police, though it's not like anyone from their neighborhood is. The Sheriff looks down at the blood stain on Isaac's floor with raised eyebrows, and then up at Chantille and Isaac on the couch.

"These things again," the blond deputy says, picking up the black stick. "You people really like your electricity, huh?"

He says this to Allison's father, who scowls, and Isaac realizes what he should've when he first came in. He's a hunter too. Or used to be before he retired. Was that why the other hunters went after him? It also explained why Allison had a lot of familiarity with Beacon Hills' supernatural problems. He'd assumed that she got involved because of her relationship with Scott, but this actually makes a lot more sense. It runs in the family.

Her werewolf-hunting family. Isaac really does have the worst luck in the world.

"What are you going to do with them?" Chantille asks suddenly, and then seems to shrink into herself when the entire room turns to stare at her.

"We're arresting them," the Sheriff says, looking at her in concern. It's not hard to see why. Chantille looks very ill. Unlike the rest of them, it is unlikely she has ever been in a hostage situation before, even if it only lasted ten minutes. Isaac doesn't even want to think about what this is going to do to Latisha. "No phone calls, no lawyers. They can't complain if they don't want to expose themselves."

Chantille doesn't respond, so the Sheriff give them each a nod and he and his deputy take the unconscious hunters outside and put them in their squad car.

"Never thought I'd be happy about police fucking with niggers," Chantille mutters as they drive off and Isaac winces as Allison, Allison's father and Scott look horrified at her language.

"Allison, we need to get that nose looked at," Allison's father says, turning away from Chantille toward his daughter and Allison nods stiffly.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asks Isaac, looking intently at his face.

"I'm fine," Isaac says automatically, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. He will be anyway. He's dealt with his dad's abuse for most of his life and he's had people try to kill him before. He can deal with this. It's Chantille and Latisha he's worried about.

"Okay," Allison says uncertainly. She looks perfectly calm for someone that was just held at gunpoint, though Isaac figures after being murdered and coming back to life, few things must faze her. He's always admired her strength to endure even the most terrifying situations. Jealous, even. "I'll call you later, alright?"

Isaac nods, because he's not quite sure what else to do, and Allison and her father exit the room.

"Uh, sorry about the wall," Scott says awkwardly, looking at the dent he'd made. "And your door. I sorta broke the lock trying to get in here, so..."

He actually does look apologetic and Isaac stares blankly at him. He just saved his life and now he's apologizing for the collateral damage?

Isaac has no idea what to say to that, so he's glad when Scott leaves too, closing the front door behind him and leaving Chantille and him alone on the couch.

"Chantille," Isaac says quietly, but she holds her hand up to stop him, shaking her head.

"Just don't," she says, and then gets up off the couch, heading for the stairs. "Come on up now, Latisha needs to see that you okay."

Chantille had put Latisha in his parents' room and when he goes upstairs to see her, she hugs him around the waist and refuses to let go.

"Hey, it's okay," Isaac says, patting her awkwardly on the head. "It's over, okay? The police took them away, alright?"

Latisha doesn't say anything, doesn't even cry, just clings to him as if her life depends on it. Isaac stiffens up and tries not to pry her off him. Latisha's never hugged him before and it makes him extremely uncomfortable. It doesn't seem appropriate. She shouldn't be touching him like this. How can she stand to get so close to him?

Chantille just lies down in his parents' bed and pulls the covers over her face. Eventually, Isaac gets himself and Latisha in next to her, letting Latisha cling to his chest while he stares at the ceiling and tries to figure out what he's going to do with fucking werewolf hunters on his ass.

The whole ordeal happened in less than an hour and it's only five o'clock now. He's lucky he doesn't have to go into work tonight, he thinks randomly. He'd be completely useless.

The sun is setting by the time his phone rings and Isaac digs it out of his pocket with shaking hands to see Allison's name on the caller ID.

"Are you okay?" she asks immediately.

"I'm fine," Isaac says blankly, with no idea if he means it or not. Latisha raises her head from his chest to look up at him. "How's your nose?"

"I got a splint," she says quickly. "Listen, the Sheriff's interrogating the hunters now to see what they know. But if they think we had anything to do with the witches' murders then they'll be after all of us. You, Scott, Malia, and probably Lydia for not being human, my dad and I for betraying the code, and maybe Stiles and the Sheriff too for working with us."

"They can do that?" Isaac says, fear rising in his chest at the thought, breaking through the numbness.

"They can try," Allison says grimly. "But we have the advantage of having the police on our side. The FBI also has an office set up here, not that they have a clue about any of this, but that at least means they probably won't try anything out in the open."

"Okay," Isaac says, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Isaac, are you sure you're..." she says, sounding worried. "I know they really-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Isaac says, closing his eyes.

Chantille takes the covers off her head and turns on her side to look at him.

"Okay," Allison says quietly, and for a second Isaac can almost imagine that she's here with him. "I'll see you at school tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, bye," Isaac mutters and hangs up, sticking his phone back in his pocket.

"How did they know about you?" Chantille asks quietly, looking at him with piercing eyes. "Allison and that Mexican kid? He came with the police when..." She pauses, looking down at Latisha. "They must have already known, right?"

"His name's Scott," Isaac says, staring up at the ceiling, because it's better than seeing the disappointment in her face. "And yeah, he could...he could tell just by looking at me."

"Can those men...those hunters do that too?"

"No, I don't think so," Isaac murmurs. "It's just because we're both...the same."

Chantille doesn't say anything for a minute.

"Are more going to come?" she asks finally.

"No," Isaac says, because Latisha is here and is listening to every word they say. "Scott will take care of them."

Chantille nods and then presses herself against Latisha's side, hiding her face in the pillow. She doesn't ask what he is and he doesn't ask what she saw in the basement. It works out well for both of them.

Eventually Isaac goes downstairs to clean up the blood and then goes back to his own bed for the night. He cocoons himself in the covers and tries not to listen to every tiny sound in and outside the house, as if listening for intruders.

Allison said that they might go after Stiles and the Sheriff for helping them. Did that mean they would go after Chantille and Latisha too, just for living with him?

He doesn't get that much sleep that night.

The next morning both Latisha and Chantille are very quiet. Personally, Isaac thinks Latisha should probably stay home from school, but he can't afford to skip a day and Chantille doesn't want to take off work unless it's an emergency, even though the left side of her face is bruised badly from the back of the hunter's hand when he hit her.

She looks at him differently while they get Latisha ready for school, like she's not sure who he is anymore. And Isaac isn't sure how to reassure her that he's the same person he's always been, so he says nothing.

Isaac plans on his usual tactic of avoiding them all during school, but Scott catches him as he's getting his books out of his locker before first period.

"Hey, Isaac, you okay?" he asks, looking Isaac over carefully, like he's expecting to see cracks.

"Um, yeah," Isaac says, taken aback at his concern.

"Okay, good," Scott says, with a reassuring smile. "You don't have to worry about the hunters anymore. They won't be getting out of jail anytime soon."

Isaac nods, a little uncertain of how he's supposed to respond to that. It's weird being around Scott when he's not trying to shove him into things.

"Well, I'm going to go to class," Scott says, jerking his thumb backward over his shoulder.

Say thank you, you ungrateful little shit, he hears his dad's voice say and he kind of has a point. Scott saved him from a painful death. The least he can do is thank him.

"Wait," he says quickly, before Scott can leave, but what comes out of his mouth next is: "That thing you did. You...you took away my pain. How did you do that?"

Scott blinks at him in confusion. "Well, you just...do? Like if someone's in pain, you just touch them and you can sort of suck it out of them."

"Oh," Isaac says, a little embarrassed. So it was that easy, huh? It makes sense how Isaac never knew about it, though. He doesn't make a habit of touching other people.

Scott doesn't leave, even after he answered his question. He's looking at Isaac like he's not sure what to make of him, and Isaac can feel his face heat up under his scrutiny.

"No one ever taught you that?" he asks finally, a little surprised.

Isaac shakes his head. "Never been anyone to be taught by."

Scott stares. "No one ever-What do you do on full moons?"

Isaac shrugs. "Go somewhere else. Away from people."

"You don't know how to control the shift?" Scott asks incredulously, his mouth falling open a bit. "At all? You don't have an anchor?"

"What's an anchor?" Isaac asks, a little afraid Scott is making fun of him for being so ignorant about werewolf-related things.

"Dude," Scott says disbelievingly. "That's like...how long have you been, you know," he asks, looking around carefully to make sure no one's listening.

"Almost three years," Isaac answers warily, wondering where he's going with this.

Scott just stares at him like he's a freak even among werewolves.

Right, Isaac thinks, shame starting to build in his chest, of course, he is. He was pretty sure, when he realized Scott and Allison were able to be together without him accidentally killing her, but this confirms it. What else could he be?

"I'll just..." Isaac says, and turns away from Scott, wanting to get away from his judging stare.

"Hey, no, wait," Scott says, pulling him back by his shoulder. "I can teach you."

It's Isaac's turn to stare at him now, so surprised he doesn't even flinch away from Scott's hand on him. "What?"

"I'll teach you," Scott says, so earnest Isaac is not sure how to respond, dropping his hand off Isaac's shoulder. "We can meet sometime after school, when I don't have work."

"I-really?" Isaac asks hesitantly, afraid it's a joke or a trick.

"Sure," Scott says with a kind smile and Isaac feels his cheeks flare with heat. "I gotta go catch up with Stiles now, but I'll see you in History, okay?"

Isaac watches him go uncertainly, feeling somehow lightheaded. He shakes himself a little as he turns back to his locker, realizing that he's blushing horribly.

Scott is so nice, he thinks, trying to tamp down on the heat in his face. He didn't even ask for anything in return.

**A/N: Yay, progress! And it only took 86k to get there! Please review and let me know what you think!**


	20. Scott VII

"They're not saying _anything_?" Lydia asks icily, tapping her foot against the floor of Scott's house.

"We don't even have IDs," the Sheriff says apologetically. "Which actually makes it a lot easier for me to hold them indefinitely, but it doesn't help us to identify their associates. We're checking out a couple leads at hotels around town, but they have to have figured out they're missing by now."

"Hunters have ways of covering their tracks," Chris says cryptically from the other side of the Scott's living room. He's the only one who has refused to sit down and is standing awkwardly next to Scott's baby pictures on the mantle.

"Well, _that's_ helpful," Stiles says sarcastically, lolling back in the red armchair next to the window, putting his feet up on the coffee table. "Mind filling us in on those _mysterious ways_?"

"If they're not talking, then _persuade_ them," Allison says, nearly vibrating with fury beside him on the couch, her face very white against the tan splint on her nose. She had not taken the attack on Isaac well, not that Scott could blame her. He's certainly not going to forget the image of Isaac writhing on the floor in pain while the hunters stood over him indifferently any time soon. They had all planned to go to junior prom this weekend, but that definitely isn't going to happen now. No one is in the mood for partying after Allison had come so close to death _again_.

"Allison..." Scott says, putting his hand on her shoulder comfortingly, a little worried at the anger in her tone and the desire for vengeance that comes with it.

"No, I agree," Malia say idly from her seat against the wall. She's never seen much point in sitting on chairs unless it's to be next to Stiles. Scott is pretty sure she doesn't even sleep in her bed at home, just curls up on the carpet. "We need information. We don't know anything about them or how many there are."

"So the next logical step is _torture_?" Stiles shoots back, pulling his feet back off the coffee table quickly and bouncing up straight in his chair, looking at Malia in aggravation.

"Why not? Let them have a taste of their own medicine," Allison says angrily, her heartbeat rocketing up.

"No one is torturing anyone," Scott says firmly, giving her an unamused look. Allison's lips thin and she turns away from him to glare angrily at the wall.

"Are you serious right now?" Stiles complains, looking at Allison disbelievingly. "He's a _werewolf_, Allison. He got over it. So should you."

"That's easy for you to say!" Allison retorts, jumping to her feet to glare at Stiles without warning and Stiles's eyes widen, clearly not expecting such an emotional response. "You didn't have to hear him scream!"

"All right, that's enough, both of you," the Sheriff says, looking between Allison and Stiles like he's not sure which one of them he's more disappointed with. "They're not going to talk. That's just the hand we've been dealt."

Scott tugs Allison back down by the wrist and for a second, Allison turns away from him, her shoulders stiffening, but then she relaxes and grips his hand tightly. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, before her face goes blank and she's all business. Scott doesn't let go of her hand though, and Lydia subtly knocks her shoulder against Allison from her other side.

"We all need to be extra careful from now on," Scott says, trying to distract the rest of them from Allison's outburst. "We might not have a lot of information on who they are, but we do know they're looking for us and they must have some sort of access to police records to go after Isaac."

"It also means they're the "shoot first and ask questions later" kind of hunters," Stiles says darkly. "I mean, nothing in Isaac's arrest report had any indication that he's a werewolf, right? But they still shot him the second he opened his door." He raises his eyebrows at Chris expectantly in that way that Scott recognizes as the one that always gets him in trouble. "Do _any_ of you people follow the code? Or is it a Pirates of the Caribbean "more what you'd call guidelines than actual rules" kind of thing?"

"I would appreciate it if you didn't talk about things you don't unde-" Chris retorts angrily, while Scott rolls his eyes and tries not to moan in frustration.

"Wait," Lydia says, holding up a perfectly manicured hand, her face twisting up in the way it does when she's thinking hard. "If they have access to police records, why don't they know about all of us? After last year, we're all over them."

"That's right," Scott says with a frown, trying to think of all the times they'd have to have been written up and how suspicious it would look to a hunter. Accusing Derek of murder and then recanting, Jackson issuing a restraining order against him, his presence when Matt murdered the night shift at the Sheriff's Station, his witness statement after Allison's death...he had to be all over those records. So why didn't they seem to know who he or anyone else in the pack is?

"Maybe they didn't look at them," Malia offers from the floor, trying to itch her ear with her shoulder instead of her hand. "Maybe they knew he just moved here and found out by following him around."

"Not exactly a high-profile guy, Isaac," Stiles says, wrinkling his nose skeptically. "So unless they just picked anyone who looks like he kicks puppies for fun..."

"Maybe they only looked at stuff that happened this year," Scott says quickly, before Allison can go after Stiles again.

"It means they're sloppy," Chris says, looking contemplative. "Really sloppy."

"Look, this is great, but we still don't have a viable plan to deal with these people," the Sheriff says impatiently, rubbing his hand over his face. He looks very tired and Scott feels bad that he has to deal with these ridiculous situations. He didn't sign up for this when he ran for Sheriff. Sometimes Scott wonders if he'd even run for Sheriff again if not for Stiles and the fact that they desperately need someone in the department that's aware of the supernatural.

"I don't see how we come up with a plan if we still don't have any information," Lydia says critically, leaning back against the couch.

"We just have to be extra careful from now on," Scott says, leaning forward to look at all of them carefully. "If it's true they have access to police records then all of us are exposed one way or another. No one should be going anywhere alone if they can help it. Chris, don't you have hunter contacts you can check in with and see if they know who's after us?"

"I'm not sure they'll talk to me, but I can try," Chris says, looking a bit surprised that Scott would think to ask.

"And Sheriff, can you tell your deputies to look out for new people around town, maybe who're asking questions?" Scott continues, turning to look at Stiles's dad seriously. "They're hunters, not witches, and they have to be staying somewhere. Hopefully we can figure out who they are before their next move and deal with them before they hurt anyone else."

There is a pause as everyone stares at him. Scott frowns, taken aback by their reaction. "What?"

"Nothing, whatever you say, oh fearless leader," Stiles says, with a pleased grin. He has that same slanted smile on his face as the time Scott told him he was determined to stop Derek from making more werewolves. It's nice to see him smile, really smile, though Scott hopes he's not about to offer to make out with him this time.

"How would they know about me?" Malia wants to know, scrambling up from the floor.

"You were presumed dead from an "animal attack" for eight years, before suddenly coming back to life seven months ago," Lydia says with raised eyebrows. "You are by far the most suspicious of us all, and Allison _actually_ came back to life."

Malia scowls at Lydia's insensitive allusion to her past and Scott gets up quickly, just in case she's volatile enough to start a fight.

"Okay, my mom's going to be home soon and we've got that Physics test tomorrow," he says, trying to steer the conversation away from one of the many topics that cause tension in his pack.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Stiles says, getting up from his seat. The rest of them follow suit, the Sheriff not looking any more reassured than when he first walked in and Allison's face blank with suppressed emotion. Scott wants to draw her aside and make sure she's okay, but he doesn't want to do it in front of everyone, especially Chris, who is still not exactly comfortable with their relationship, even if it's more because Scott is the guy dating his daughter, not that he's a werewolf. In fact he'd kind of like her to stay behind so they can talk, but there's no way Chris is going to leave them in an empty house on purpose.

The Sheriff and Stiles drive Malia home, something they already planned to do since she neither has a car nor a license, and Lydia reluctantly agrees to Chris and Allison following her home. Scott goes upstairs and tries to get some studying done, but his mind keep wandering back to the hunters. Lydia was right, without any information on who they were and how many of them had come to Beacon Hills, they were driving blind. Because they were hunters, Deaton had no idea who they could be and Scott kind of got the impression after their last confrontation with hunters that Chris's name was mud in their community.

Relax, he tells himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. As long as they were careful, everything would be okay. The hunters wouldn't do anything too drastic with the FBI already suspicious, would they?

He turns back to his physics book, sitting at his desk in his room as he tries to make sense of his in-class notes, when his phone buzzes next to him. It's Allison.

"Hey," he says, picking it up immediately. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says automatically. "We just got home. Lydia got in okay."

"That's good," Scott says, a little distractedly, trying to figure out from her voice if she really means it.

They haven't really talked about why she's so upset. Maybe Allison thinks that he thinks it's the aftereffects of being held hostage and having her nose broken, but Scott knows that's not what it's about. It's about the hunters torturing Isaac while she was helpless to stop them. And about the old scratch marks on the floor of Isaac's basement that led up to the large chest freezer between the stairs and the washer and dryer against the far wall.

There doesn't seem to be a point in talking about it, anyway. What is there to say? It's not like it's anything they didn't know before. There was a reason the Sheriff wouldn't let Stiles see Isaac's file. Talking about it seems cruel, like gossiping about him.

"I talked to Isaac today," Allison says quietly, like she knows what he's thinking and Scott leans back in his desk chair. He'd noticed that; Allison had eaten lunch with him today.

"Yeah?" he says lightly, giving up on getting any studying done for the moment.

"He seemed okay," Allison says with a sigh, and Scott can hear a soft thump from her end, like she just flopped down on her bed. "Not like he'd say anything otherwise. I'm pretty sure Chantille is still mad at him."

"She'll get over it," Scott says reassuringly, even though he doesn't know Chantille at all. He'd sort of spent the last couple months thinking she was Isaac's girlfriend, which he is now 95% sure is not the case. "It just takes a while. My mom wouldn't look at me for two weeks after she found out."

And he still has no idea what would have happened if life-endangering events hadn't forced her to accept his werewolf nature. How long would it have taken her to get used to the idea otherwise? For her to realize that he was still her son? He doesn't like to think about that.

Scott doesn't think at all about his dad's reaction.

"I didn't think she knew _anything_," Allison muses. "But I guess she had some idea or she would've reacted a lot differently. I think they've lived together before, so maybe that's how she found out."

"Did you know he doesn't have an anchor?!" Scott bursts out, unable to keep it to himself anymore. "Because, Allison, that's _dangerous_!"

"...what?" Allison says, sounding confused. "Of course he has a..." She trails off. "He doesn't have an anchor?"

"I talked to him yesterday a bit," Scott says agitatedly, rubbing his hand through his hair. "He had no idea what I was talking about. I should've...I should've known, both times I've seen him fight he's sliced open his palms with his claws _on purpose_."

"But how...what does he do on full moons?"

"He said he goes somewhere else. His first full moon here, when the first witches' victim was murdered, we went over to his house, right? But he wasn't there. When we nearly arrested him he said he'd spent all night in Sonoma County. And when I knocked out the hunters and he saw my face..." Scott remembers the naked fear on Isaac's face, the way he'd scrambled back when Scott came closer to make sure he was okay. He hadn't been relieved, he'd been terrified. "...I think he thought I was going to kill him until I shifted back."

Scott is _so stupid_. He should've seen it. All the clues were right there, in front of his face.

"But is that even possible?" Allison says, sounding dismayed. "I mean, I knew he didn't know anything about werewolves; he didn't know what alphas or omegas were or what wolfsbane was, but I just assumed..."

"I talked to Deaton and he said the level of self-control he would have to have is unheard of," Scott says, staring up at the crack in his ceiling above his desk, though he's not really seeing it. Instead his mind is racing back to all the interactions he's had with Isaac over the past few months. Having no control, being afraid of what you might do, afraid that you'll hurt the people around you...Scott could barely do that for two months. And Isaac had done it, had lived that nightmare, for almost _three years_.

No wonder he's such a dick, Scott thinks with new-found empathy. In his opinion, Isaac is lucky to be sane at all. The fact that his eyes are still gold is nothing short of a miracle.

"My dad did say that omegas are most likely to be violent and out of control," Allison says contemplatively and Scott hears her shift again over the phone. "Something about not having a pack makes them less likely to have an anchor, but he said it when he was trying to convince me out of dating _you_, so I didn't really believe him."

Scott thinks back to the omega that Gerard killed. It hadn't even been the full moon, but he'd been out of control, feral almost. He'd smelled like he was homeless too. Scott's not surprised that after losing everything, he'd had little to anchor himself to.

"I said I'd teach him," Scott adds after a moment of silence. "I figured, you know, probably be a good idea."

"Really?" Allison says, sounding stunned.

"Why not?" Scott says, a little taken aback at how surprised she sounds. Why _wouldn't_ he want to help?

"I just...I know you don't like him," Allison says carefully. "I just didn't think-and he really said yes?"

Isaac...hadn't, actually. He'd just looked at Scott uncertainly with wide blue eyes, like he wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. It was a weirdly vulnerable look to see on his face when most of the time Scott's used to seeing Isaac glare at people.

"Yeah, he'll do it," Scott says decisively, because he's not giving Isaac a choice in the matter. Three years of having no control, having to go to the middle of nowhere for full moons-it's ridiculous when there's a solution.

Scott will teach him if he has to drag him into the woods himself.

Except he doesn't have to drag Isaac out into the woods. He doesn't even have to persuade him, which he's almost a little disappointed about, because he had a whole speech planned.

All he has to do is turn around after the bell rings at the end of Econ and say: "Isaac, are you free today? You want to meet after school?"

And two rows down, Isaac blinks up at him, a little startled, and says: "Okay."

A couple hours later they're standing in the woods a mile or so away from the Hale House, Isaac looking extremely uncomfortable, his shoulders slouched and his hands shoved in his pockets. He's made sure to keep his distance from Scott the entire way there, too, and it doesn't seem like he's going to break the trend now.

And now Isaac is looking expectantly at him, like he's waiting for some-oh.

"Right," Scott says, and tries not to think about how awkward this all is. Allison hadn't said anything explicitly, but he could tell that she was nervous about the two of them spending time together. She'd probably thought they might get into a fight, though, not that it would be this spectacularly awkward. "So an anchor is something that holds you back from going all feral whenever you shift. It can be another person or idea, something that you feel strongly enough about, that can keep the human side of you in control."

Scott pauses and waits for the inevitable question of what his anchor is, but Isaac doesn't say anything, just looks at him with the same amount of skepticism Scott would expect if he was trying to induct him into a cult.

Fine, Scott thinks irritatedly, demonstration time.

"Which lets me go from this..." he wolfs out completely, feeling his fangs lengthen and hair burst through his pores onto his face, "to this."

Isaac jumps a bit in surprise, eyes going wide and his heartbeat quickening. He looks at Scott warily, like he's still expecting him to attack him at any second.

"Now your turn," Scott says, gesturing at Isaac's face.

Isaac looks at him like he thinks he's crazy. "Are you fucking kidding? You want me to..." He makes a a vague gesture at his face.

"Yeah, try it."

"I'll try and, you know, come at you, though," Isaac says, squinting at Scott through the afternoon sunlight.

"I'll be fine," Scott tells him, shifting back to normal. "Just wolf-out and then try and focus on your anchor."

"How the fuck am I supposed to know what that is?" Isaac asks, scowling at Scott.

"Process of elimination," Scott says with a shrug, remembering helping Malia learn to control the shift. She'd had to try a couple things before she'd figured out her anchor. She didn't tell Scott what it ended up being and Scott didn't ask. He has a feeling he doesn't want to know.

"You want to stay in control, even on the full moon?" Scott asks pointedly and Isaac relents reluctantly, closing his eyes.

Scott watches as his fangs and claws come out, but before his face starts to shift, Isaac clenches his fists and the metallic scent of blood hits the air even before Scott sees it.

"Wait, don't do that!" Scott says, striding closer to Isaac to look down at his bleeding hands.

Isaac opens his eyes, looking vaguely confused, and follows Scott's gaze down to his hands.

"Oh," he says, unclenching his fists and bringing them up in front of them, the wounds already healing. "Sorry. Habit."

He doesn't look like he even realized what he was doing. Like he's done it so many times it's a reflex now.

"Hey, be careful," Scott says, with a wince, remembering how painful it was clawing into his own hands. At Isaac's puzzled look, he clarifies. "I mean, pain makes you human, but don't overdo it."

Isaac doesn't look any less confused, still giving Scott that look that says he doesn't understand why Scott even cares.

"Right," Scott says, trying not to think too hard about what that says about him. "Again."

Isaac relaxes his hands and shifts all the way this time, a snarl ripping out of his throat at he opens his gold eyes to glare at Scott. There's nothing remotely human in them as he looks at Scott, and so Scott is ready when he lunges. Scott dodges his claws and grabs his arm, pining it behind his back. Isaac is taller than him, but it's astonishingly easy to hold him in place. Scott remembers how easily Derek had creamed him when he was an omega, but he's still kind of surprised at the difference in strength between them.

"Isaac," he says firmly, as Isaac growls furiously, still trying to break free. He tries to reach back and claw at Scott with his free hand, so Scott grabs that one too. "Isaac, listen to me. Think about your anchor."

He forces Isaac down to his knees on the dirt forest floor, while Isaac jerks around in his grasp, snarling loudly.

"Isaac," Scott says patiently, glad he'd worked out the kinks of this process with Malia when he'd taught her. It's much easier to do this when he knows what to do, instead of just winging it, especially since Isaac clearly trusts him so little. "_Focus._"

He lets a little of the wolf out at that, his eyes glowing red for a second and true to form, Isaac falters.

He still struggles weakly, but not with as much energy. Scott leans down to look at his face and sees that his eyes are squeezed shut, but he's still wolfed out.

"_Isaac_," Scott says again and Isaac gasps, stopping his movements to get free all together.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, shaking and ducking his head down. His eyes are still squeezed shut, but his fangs have retracted and he's clenching his human teeth tightly.

Scott feels his hands move and look back to see Isaac trying to dig his claws into his palms.

"No, don't!" Scott says, using one of his hands to grab Isaac's fingers away from his palms.

Isaac lets out a growl of frustration and squirms against his grip. "I...I can't-"

"_Focus_," Scott repeats and Isaac takes a couple deep breaths. Scott lets go of his arms and Isaac falls forward onto his hands with a low growl, his fingers digging in the dirt. Scott walks around to crouch near his head, watching the hair on the sides of his face recede slowly as Isaac shakes with effort.

He doesn't have an anchor yet, Scott can tell that much already. He's fighting back against his werewolf urges with sheer willpower, something Scott didn't even know was possible. With Malia, he had to roar her into submission every time she shifted in the beginning or she'd try to kill him or Stiles on instinct. He supposes it makes sense that Isaac has more control, but it's still pretty impressive for a guy Scott had written off as a hot-headed asshole these past few months.

Finally, Isaac's face is back to normal and he sags against the ground, still breathing heavily. Looking at him now, Scott understands why Allison was so surprised he agreed to let Scott teach him. He's clearly put himself in a vulnerable position here, especially since he really does not seem to trust Scott.

"Good start," Scott says encouragingly, reaching out to pat Isaac on the back before he thinks better of it.

Isaac looks up at him disbelievingly, wiping the saliva off his chin. "What? I tried to rip your face off!"

"Malia did worse when I was teaching her," Scott says wryly and offers him a hand up. Isaac doesn't take it, looking at Scott suspiciously as he scrambles to his feet on his own and brushing the dirt of his pants.

"Seriously," Scott tells him reassuringly, getting up as well, a little surprised at how defensive he is. "You have to work at it. It took a couple weeks for Malia to get full control, and it took me two months. I didn't have a teacher, though."

"You didn't have a teacher?" Isaac asks and then looks like he immediately regrets it, like he thinks Scott will get mad at him for asking questions.

"Nah, the alpha who bit me just wanted to add to his own power. He didn't care that I had no control," Scott explains, and tries very hard not to sound bitter. It was over a year ago and Peter is dead, for good this time. He has to move past it, look forward. "Derek tried-another beta-but I couldn't trust him and he was pretty much the worst teacher ever. So I ended up having to figure it out by myself. Well, Stiles helped."

Scott feels a little bad about badmouthing Derek, but nothing he said wasn't the truth. Derek had been a complete dick the first few months of their acquaintance and his idea of teaching Scott about being a werewolf involved breaking his arm. He has no idea if his teaching methods improved once he became an alpha, but the fact that all three of his betas jumped ship less than two months after they were turned kind of answers that question.

Isaac looks a little surprised at this information, his face curious, devoid of its usual smirk or scowl. He looks very different like this from what Scott's used to and he finds himself thinking back to one of the few things Allison said about him.

_"__Please, 95% of what comes out of Isaac's mouth is complete bullshit."_

She'd been drunk at the time, but it seems more and more likely that it's the truth. Isaac appears to be all bark, and very little bite. It makes Scott warm to him a little and he smiles kindly at Isaac, thinking that maybe this won't be as bad as he thought.

"Ready to go again?" Scott asks with a small grin and he's gratified to see Isaac's lip quirk in an attempt of a smile back and nod hesitantly.

Isaac isn't so bad, he decides. Clearly he has major trust issues, but considering his life so far, Scott doesn't blame him. Overall, he seems like an okay guy, just probably needs a little time to get used to people before he can really trust them.

So with this in mind, Scott declares that they are going to sit with Isaac during lunch the next day.

"What?" Stiles says predictably, scowling deeply at the idea. "Why?"

"Because we are," Scott says, trying for a tone that brooks no argument. It doesn't work, not that he's surprised.

"You have got to be kidding me," Lydia says with a disgusted look, which is pretty rich considering she had an off and on relationship with Aiden, who _killed Boyd_.

Scott just raises his eyebrows at her and then turns back to his locker, shoving his notebooks and books from his morning classes in the back.

"Look, I get that you have to teach the guy to, you know, not murder people, but do you really have to become _friends_ with him?" Stiles complains leaning against the locker next to Scott's and almost bumping into the sophomore girl whose locker is a couple feet away from him.

"I don't like him," Malia says bluntly, crossing her arms over her ubiquitous jacket.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't really like you either, so that'll work out well," Scott says, a little annoyed at their stubbornness.

"Oh God, now both you and Allison are drinking the Koolaid," Stiles moans, throwing his hands up.

"I'm drinking what?" Allison says, coming up to stand beside Lydia.

"Allison, can you please tell your boyfriend that we are not interested in eating lunch with Isaac Lahey, now or ever," Lydia says sweetly, her red lips curling in disdain as she says his name.

Allison blinks and looks at Scott questioningly, a grin slowly blossoming onto her face.

"Nope," she says happily, and leans in to kiss him on the mouth chastely, or chastely until Scott wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in closer.

"Ugh," Stiles says.

"Oh, relax," Allison says when she pulls away, smiling in that bright way that reminds Scott wistfully of when they first met. She hooks her arm in Lydia's and pulls her down the hall towards the cafeteria as Scott slams his locker shut. "It'll be fun."

"Honey, you have a very different definition of fun than I have," Lydia says tartly, but relents, as she always does when it's Allison doing the asking, a small smile playing over her lips.

Isaac is sitting inside, even though the weather is near perfect, hunched over a book while he picks at his school lunch. He jumps a little when Lydia slams her tray down on the table across from him, obviously not expecting them.

"What the fuck do you want?" he asks automatically, scowling up at them with such hostility that Scott wonders if he's made the wrong decision.

"We're eating lunch," Allison says with a cheerful smile, completely ignoring his unwelcome demeanor. "Move over."

Isaac shifts over on the bench automatically, but still looks over at the rest of them with a healthy amount of dubiety.

"Why?" he says suspiciously, shoulders stiffening up, as if he's expecting an attack.

"We just thought we'd come over and enjoy your stimulating company," Stiles says sarcastically, sitting down next to Lydia.

"Well, then you can fuck right off," Isaac snaps, glaring at Stiles.

"Be nice," Allison tells him, elbowing him in the ribs. "What are you working on?"

"English," Isaac says, looking extremely annoyed. "Which we have next period, so go away."

"No," Allison says flatly and grabs the notebook next to him, pulling it towards her.

Scott sits down next to Isaac and watches, slightly amused and puzzled, as Allison critiques Isaac's answers to their homework questions on Much Ado About Nothing, with little regard to his complaints.

"You can't say that Don Pedro is stalker," Allison says, rolling her eyes at Isaac. "One, that's just factually incorrect, and two, you didn't even answer the question."

"He's something," Isaac says darkly, squeezing a packet of ketchup on his mashed potatoes while the rest of them stare on in disgust. "He's creepy. What the fuck he care if they hook up for? It ain't his problem. 'Sides, isn't he supposed to be a prince? Don't he have nothing better to do?"

Lydia lets out a snort of laughter and Isaac turns to her with a scowl. "What?"

"'Nothing' was Elizabethan slang for female genitalia," Lydia says, stabbing her salad with her fork daintily. "Which is why the title is a double entendre as well. "Much Ado About Nothing.""

"What?" Stiles says, turning to look at her incredulously. "Why do you know this?"

Lydia looks up at them, surprised to see them all staring at her, and widens her eyes innocently. "What? Am I the only one who reads the footnotes?"

"We're supposed to read the footnotes?" Isaac moans, dropping his head down in frustration.

"Or you could just look up the SparkNotes like the rest of us," Stiles says, rolling his eyes as he shoves a handful of fries into his mouth. "Unless you're Scott here, who thinks SparkNotes are cheating."

"They are!" Scott protests through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"What are SparkNotes?" Malia and Isaac say at the same time and then glare at each other.

Stiles gapes at both of them for a second before responding. "Okay, her I get, since she literally grew up in a cave," he says, pointing to Malia. "You, on the other hand, have no excuse."

Isaac opens his mouth to retort, but Scott cuts in before he can exchange more insults with Stiles.

"It's a website that puts up summaries of books," Scott explains quickly. "And it is _cheating_ if you use it and don't even bother to read the book."

"You are the most incorruptible person I've met in my life," Stiles complains, throwing up his hands dramatically. "Stop it. You're wrecking the curve for the rest of us."

Allison, who is still reading Isaac's homework, lets out a surprised breath of laughter. "'Claudio is tricked by Don Jon into believing Hero is cheating on him, because he is a gullible moron.'"

"What? He is," Isaac insists, finishing up his overcooked pasta. "Stupid motherfucker believes this Don Jon asshole without any proof and then breaks it off _at the wedding_? He better die at the end. This is one of those Shakespeare plays that everyone dies at the end, right?"

"Sorry, they all live happily ever after," Stiles says, not sounding very sorry at all.

Isaac makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, ducking his head down to push his mushy green beans around on his plate. He's nervous, Scott realizes. He doesn't understand why they're sitting with him.

"What did you think about the physics quiz today?" Scott asks him.

Isaac doesn't answer, looking up at Scott in surprise, with an _are you talking to me?_ expression on his face.

"It was easier than Ms. Daniels made it seem," Lydia says with an unimpressed sniff.

"Are you kidding, it was horrible," Malia complains, forgetting about her silverware and picking up a couple noodles with her fingers. "I don't understand why Daniels can't teach anything without having a million quizzes every week that we all fail anyway."

"Maybe if you actually read the book, you wouldn't," Lydia says in annoyance, looking over disgustedly at Malia's eating habits.

"Please, like I have time for that," Malia says and Stiles gets a funny look on his face next to her, but doesn't say anything. Malia's grades are pretty terrible, but she's come a long way from a girl who wanted to go back to being a coyote six months ago. They're pretty much the only reason Malia hasn't dropped out of high school, anyway, and Scott tries not to worry too much about her complete lack of interest in school.

"At least she's better than Harris," Allison says, stealing one of Isaac's fries.

"Yeah, not that I'm glad that he got murdered, but if Jennifer had to kill _someone_..."

"Stiles," Scott says, giving him a reproving look.

"Your physics teacher got murdered?" Isaac says, raising his eyebrows at them.

"And our history teacher and two of our music teachers. By our English teacher last semester," Stiles says with far too much enthusiasm. "This high school is basically a graveyard waiting to happen."

"Right..." Isaac says, looking taken aback, his fork halfway to his mouth. "What is it about this town that attracts so much weird shit? I swear y'all get more bodies here than a Saturday night in Crenshaw."

"I'd say it was the Nemeton, but we had werewolf problems before then, so..." Scott says, a little uncomfortable with their blasé attitude towards the murders of their fellow citizens. He knows they stopped their killers and that it's over (for now) but it still doesn't seem like something they should joke about.

"The Nemeton," Isaac repeats slowly, looking at Allison for confirmation. "Which you ritually sacrificed yourselves to."

"Are you telling him everything now?" Stiles complains to Allison, who just raises her eyebrows pointedly, looking unfazed by his response.

"Yup," she says simply and Scott sees Isaac blink in surprise and look at her a little uncertainly out of the corner of his eye. Allison doesn't seem to notice and continues to eat her pasta.

"Hey, knowledge is power," Scott says, because if there's anything that he's learned from being a werewolf, it's that things you don't know about are constantly trying to kill you, and the more you know about them, the easier it is to stop them. "And in this town, you can never have enough of that."

Isaac looks at him then, puzzled, as if he's not sure what to make of him, and Scott smiles, because his mother's always told him that smiling is the easiest way to put people at ease.

**A/N: Yay, they are (sort of) friendly now! Please review!**


	21. Allison IV

"How about this one?" Allison says, holding the checkered dress up to herself for Lydia to examine.

"Oh, Allison," Lydia says, shaking her head pityingly. "Sweetheart, that makes you look like a coal miner. This looks far better."

She holds out a short bright pink dress with a modest V-neck and colorful floral pattern with a satisfied smile.

"Uh, it's not really my style," Allison says, trying not to sounding judgmental.

"I know, that's why you should buy it," Lydia says brightly, throwing the dress over her shoulder with the others and pulls Allison further into the dress section of the Beacon Hills Macy's.

"If you like it so much why don't you buy it?" Allison asks, amused despite herself at Lydia's affectations. She knows a lot of people, like her dad and Scott, didn't really understand her friendship with Lydia in the beginning. They fell for her shallow popular girl act and didn't see that she doesn't mean even half the things she says, using sarcasm and fake stupidity to hide her true self like a veil between her and the rest of the world. Allison's not sure what the root of her deep-seated insecurity is that makes her feel like she has to hide herself away, but she's gotten better since she joined their little supernatural group. At least something good has come from it.

"Oh, Allison, with my hair it would look like I'd burst into bloom," Lydia says patronizingly and picks up another dress, a dark green this time. "Hmm. What do you think about this one?"

"It is your color," Allison replies, amused by the way Lydia turns from side to side, examining her reflection in the mirror on the wall.

"It really is," Lydia says, sounding satisfied and flounces off to the next set of dresses. Allison follows, with a bit of an eyeroll at Lydia's dramatics.

They spend nearly half an hour more looking at dresses before Allison grows tired of shopping- she definitely does not have Lydia's stamina-and wanders into the men's section next door. She's idly looking at a jacket that seems like something her dad might wear when a deep blue t-shirt shirt with a scoop neck on a display table catches her eye.

This would look good on Isaac, she thinks, reaching over to pick up. She unfolds it and holds it up, examining it carefully. It's plain, looking like something you could buy at American Apparel, but she can tell just by the feel of the fabric that it is much better quality. It would go well with his eyes.

She checks the price tag and winces. $49.95. And she knows instinctively that Isaac would not appreciate such an expensive gift, even though Allison's family has more than enough money than she and her father know what to do with. Or appreciate any gift, really. Even Scott's well-meaning overtures of friendship seem to disconcert him.

"For Scott?" Lydia says from behind her and Allison jumps a bit, startled that she hadn't heard her coming.

"Uh, no," Allison says, turning around and dropping her hands. Inexplicably, she feels herself start to blush.

"Not really his color, blue," Lydia says critically, looking over at the other shirts on the display. "He looks better in red, like this one."

"I'm not going to spend $50 on something he could just buy at the Gap," Allison say quickly, putting the shirt back on the table without folding it. "Are you going to try those on?"

Allison's not a complete idiot. She knows there's...something between her and Isaac. She'd never really considered it before that weird dream, but after Isaac had nearly been killed it was hard to deny. But she's dating Scott. And things are great between them, they really are. Allison wouldn't want to ruin it for some half-formed feeling she gets when she sits down next to Isaac.

She's not sure if Isaac feels the same way, anyway. Sometimes she swears he does with the soft way her looks at her, but other times it feels like he's still a little wary of her and doesn't want to get too close. His looks are never sexual either. He just...sometimes he looks at her with admiration, more than anything else. And she has no clue what that means. They're friends, yes, but Allison knows she has little idea of what goes on in his head.

So she ignores it, pushes it back to the back of her mind. It will go away eventually, she tells herself. He saved her and she's just confusing her gratitude to him with a crush. And it's not like she doesn't have other things to worry about with the threat of rogue hunters hanging over all their heads.

Isaac is...there a lot more now, though. Now that Scott's teaching him how to control his powers, Scott has decided to adopt Isaac into their group, much to the latter's confusion. They sit with him at lunch now and talk to him in class and in the hallways. Lydia, Stiles, and Malia aren't all that pleased about this arrangement, but they humor Scott's good intentions and try not to bait Isaac. Or well, Lydia and Malia try. Stiles was kind of always going to be a lost cause.

Isaac doesn't seem to know what to think about the whole idea, making Allison wonder if he's ever even had friends before. He doesn't try and ditch them, though. She can tell by his tentative half-smiles that he's warming up to Scott at least, not that that surprises her. Everyone likes Scott.

Scott giving him the Werewolf 101 seems to be going okay too. It's only been a week and from what Scott tells her they haven't made much progress, but at least they're getting along. Allison never really gave it much thought before, but she supposes that finding an anchor must be really difficult if you had no family and were generally distrustful of people. She'd have thought that Chantille would be a good choice, except that it seemed Isaac didn't even trust her enough to tell her about his werewolf nature.

She tried to talk to him about it a couple times, but Isaac always quickly changed the subject. He's never liked talking about himself. Allison had always thought that Scott didn't really like being a werewolf, but he's nothing compared to Isaac, who flinches at the mere reminder that he's not human.

Her dad is gone most of the weekend looking for leads on the hunters after them, so Allison spends most of the weekend hanging out with Lydia and having sex with Scott in her blissfully empty apartment.

After they're finally done at Macy's, Allison and Lydia go out for dinner before they part ways for the night, Lydia begging off a movie night at her house. So Allison invites Scott over to her apartment instead to watch The Hangover, not that they end up seeing anything but the first ten minutes.

"Oh, _God_," Allison moans, her arms collapsing under her weight, causing her to fall face first onto her pillow.

Scott spits out a mouthful of her hair and rolls off her onto his side, rubbing a soothing hand over her stomach.

"Good?" he asks gently and Allison rolls over onto her back, wincing a bit at the pins and needles in her knees and the soreness in her toes from curling them so hard.

"Mmm, yeah," she mutters, pressing her face into his neck and entwining their legs together. "Think the neighbors heard?"

"Well, you were kind of loud," Scott says absently, stroking her hair back and then groans, letting his head fall back to the pillow. "Crap, what if we get a noise complaint?"

Allison giggles at the thought and throws her arm over Scott's chest, scooting closer so that they're pressed together in nearly every way. "In this building? Please, the people who live here are much too uptight to call up the superintendent and explain exactly what the problem is. That or they're getting off on it."

"Allison!" Scott protests, sounding scandalized and Allison grins up at him to see the appalled look on his face at the thought of other people listening to them.

"C'mon," Allison says coyly, stroking a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "You and me, with the headboard banging against the wall, and the moaning, and the growling." She leans up to whisper in his ear. "You have super-hearing, right? Anyone in the building get a little too excited?"

"Nooo," Scott moans, dropping his head down to hide his face in her breasts. "Don't say things like that, oh, my God, Allison."

Allison snickers, still petting his hair, and he's quiet for a minute before he starts mouthing at her left breast, bring up his hand to squeeze the other one gently.

"I don't growl," he says reproachfully, looking up at her with disappointed puppy dog eyes. It doesn't really work with her nipple in his mouth, his hand cupping her other breast firmly.

"Yeah, you do," Allison says breathlessly, arching her back a little as he swirls his tongue around her nipple. "Mmm. Don't start anything you can't finish."

"I'm a werewolf, Allison," Scott says, a little smugly, his hand drifting down between her legs. "You don't have to worry about that."

"Yeah?" Allison says challengingly, and then rolls them over, pinning Scott's arms over his head. His eyes go very wide and then get dazed and unfocused at she rubs against his erection.

"Oh," he gasps, straining a little against her grip, but he doesn't break it. The thought of that, the fact that he could so easily break free but chooses not to sends a hot wave of lust aching through her. She can practically feel herself getting wetter by the second.

"Allison," Scott moans, bucking his hips to get more friction on his dick, already wet with precome. "Condom?"

"In a minute," Allison says, her voice shaking with the effort not to just sink down on him now. She leans down, keeping a firm hold on his wrists, until her breasts hang down over his face.

Scott whimpers a little, but tilts his head up to kiss them dutifully and Allison grits her teeth against the urge to just take him like this, bare and hot, sliding up against her just _right _where she needs him. Allison scoots back a little to escape temptation and leans down to kiss the tattoo on his bicep, laving her tongue over it.

"Oh, shit," Scott moans, jerking his head to the side to capture her mouth.

They kiss, wet and messy while Scott bucks under her, low growls forcing their way out of his mouth even as he tries to hold them back. Allison grinds against him as long as she can, gripping his wrists tightly, before the ache between her legs becomes too great and she has to roll off to get a condom.

"Hold onto the headboard," she whispers in his ear, rolling the condom onto his dick.

"Oh, Jesus, Allison," Scott groans and grabs onto the bars of her headboard and Allison moans in response at the pretty picture he makes spread out on her bed.

She rides him as hard as she can go, her thigh muscles aching, one hand gripping the top of the headboard, while the other is rubbing at her clit. She has to close her eyes to concentrate, to get focus on getting him as deep inside of her as she can, but she can feel Scott's eyes on her, watching her every move.

After a couple minutes her thighs are burning and start shaking weakly, and Allison lets out a disappointed groan as she realizes she can't do this for much longer.

"Here, c'mere," Scott gasps, letting go of the headboard and gripping her hips with both hands, lifting her up and down with far more ease than a human would be able to.

"Scott!" Allison moans, throwing her head back, gripping the headboard tighter as he holds her steady with firm hands as he fucks her. "Yeah, like that-oh."

Her fingers stumble over her clit, but it doesn't matter she's already coming, clenching down around him and letting out a sharp cry of pleasure as her orgasm rolls through her. She barely hears Scott swearing underneath her as his hips jerk helplessly, his fingers digging into her hips.

When Allison's done, she tips forward and collapses onto him, Scott letting out a weak grunt of protest. His arms come up around her waist and he tips her off to the side gently while Allison pants. She hears him getting rid of the condom and smiles sleepily as he pulls the covers over them, wrapping an arm around Allison's shoulders and bringing her in close.

"Who couldn't finish what they started now?" he whispers, sounding far too pleased with himself and Allison groans, headbutting him weakly.

"Shut up," she says, throwing her arm over his chest and snuggles into the space between his shoulder and neck. "And I finished alright."

"_Yeah_, you did."

Allison rolls her eyes, but she's too tired to protest. She drifts off for a bit until she starts to feel kind of gross and then goes to take a shower. When she comes back, toweling down her hair, Scott is fast asleep in her bed, limbs splayed out every which way.

"Scott," she says, a random thought occurring to her. "Scott, wake up."

"Mm, I'm up," Scott says, jolting awake sitting up quickly, his hair a disaster. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just..." Allison pauses and throws the towel on her dresser before turning off the lights and getting back into bed with him, careful of the aching between her legs and in her thigh muscles. "What's going on with Lydia and her mom?"

Scott lies back down and curls into her shoulder, her wet hair brushing his cheek.

"She didn't take the whole banshee thing well," he says after a couple seconds, sounding a little sad.

"Yeah, that I gathered."

"She didn't want Lydia to hang out with us any more," Scott continues, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. Allison can't see his face too well in the dark, but he looks very serious. "She even tried to transfer her to a boarding school after the end of last semester. Earlier this year we were over at Stiles's, she kept calling Lydia to figure out where she was, but Lydia was ignoring her. So she went looking at all our houses, and when she found us at Stiles's, she practically dragged her out to the car and screamed at us that if we came near Lydia again she'd tell everyone about us. Lydia said she calmed her down and apparently came up with some deal that she'd move in with her dad if she didn't stop trying to keep her away from us, but she won't talk about the details."

"They're still not getting along, though, right?" Allison says quietly, leaning her head against Scott's.

"No," he replies regretfully, reaching over to grab her hand, lacing their fingers together over her comforter. "She's not talking about it with you either?"

"No," Allison says, closing her eyes and pressing her nose into his hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo and sweat. "Lydia doesn't really like to talk about herself, though."

"I wish she knew she could," Scott says, sounding frustrated. "I mean, after you...before you...She wouldn't talk to me. About anything. I just..." He shudders and Allison grips his hand harder, as if that could somehow erase the anxiety they both feel at the mere mention of those months following her death.

"I wish she trusted us more," he adds eventually, sounding troubled.

Allison wishes that too, but she knows that Lydia and Scott's friendship isn't even a one-way street, much less a two-way one. Scott would never burden Lydia with his troubles and fears. He'd never even consider it. Scott spends all his energy on other people and does not expect the same consideration in return. It's no surprise that someone as proud as Lydia would not want to add more to his plate, especially when it's something so personal as the relationship between her and her mother, and there are hunters after them.

"I'll try and talk to her about it again," Allison promises, and Scott lifts his head to smile at her before leaning down to kiss her bare chest, right over her heart.

Oh, Scott, Allison thinks and strokes his cheek gently with the backs of her fingers. She shifts closer to him and presses her forehead against his, thinking that if things could just stay like this, then everything might be alright. But they're not that lucky and she knows it.

**A/N: This chapter is brought to you by Macy's, the ultimate shopping destination for supernatural teens. Please review!**


	22. Isaac XI

"Well, that was...better," Scott says diplomatically, the red fading from his eyes.

"Bullshit," Isaac replies, glaring at him, taking deep, calming breaths to slow his heartbeat back to normal.

"You didn't try to attack me this time," Scott says optimistically, because he is incapable of accepting the rather pessimistic reality that Isaac is a failure who will never be able to control himself as a werewolf.

Only because you growled really loudly at me, Isaac thinks. He'd held his ground and growled back, of course, because it made perfect sense at the time, but now he feels like an idiot. It's how he spends most of these sessions feeling. He'd probably have given up by now if Scott wasn't so hopeful about the whole thing. He's so nice about it that Isaac doesn't want to disappoint him, even though it's probably inevitable.

"Wanna go one more time, or do you have to leave for work now?" Scott asks, shaking his shirt a little against the heat. It's almost June and the afternoon sun is merciless as its rays shine down on them. Even with the cover of the trees, it's still miserable and Isaac's shirt is soaked with sweat. He's just lucky he's a werewolf, otherwise he'd probably be as red as a lobster as well. Scott's not wearing his usual jacket anymore either, just a black wifebeater that exposes the tattoo that encircles his left bicep, which Isaac is not sure what to make of. Scott doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would get a tattoo, much less while he was still underage.

"Nah, I better get going," Isaac says, flipping open his cell phone and checking the time. God, he has an English paper due tomorrow and there's no time to go to the library now. He'll have to write it up tonight and then type it out at the school library at lunch tomorrow.

"Hey, don't worry, man," Scott says, mistaking the slumping in his shoulders for disappointment at his continued failure at being a competent werewolf. "You'll get it eventually, you just have to be patient."

He pats Isaac on the back companionably, so unexpected that Isaac doesn't even have time to flinch, and heads back towards the road. Isaac watches him go, uncertain of what the gesture was supposed to mean. He shifts the place where Scott's hand met his back a little, and winces as he feels the damp cloth against his skin. Scott probably had his sweat all over his hand now.

Latisha is in bed and Chantille is out with that girl Dakota again by the time he gets home. The note says something about some party a couple towns over and that she'd get a ride home tomorrow after work, but Isaac's just glad she didn't ask him to come this time. When they'd lived together in LA, Chantille was always trying to get him to come out with her and her friends. He'd gone a couple times, but it was awkward. He couldn't get drunk and all the fucking had made him uncomfortable, not to mention some drunk bitch had grabbed him and stuck her tongue down his throat, which, hooray, had been his first kiss.

Isaac fixes himself some dinner, finishes his paper and then goes to bed around midnight. The next morning he takes Latisha to school as usual and barely manages to type up his paper over lunch. It's still a little too short, but Isaac doesn't care as long as he passes this semester. He's not going to college anyway; he doesn't have to worry about his GPA.

Chantille comes home exhausted, but happy, full of stories about all the new people she'd met and how cool Dakota's apartment was. Dakota apparently had a little girl that was about five and Chantille wanted to bring Latisha over some time. Even though they were three years apart, Latisha seems interested, but then again she's always gotten along with younger kids better. Chantille also spends way too much time talking about how hot Dakota's cousin from San Francisco was, but Isaac mostly tunes that shit out.

Isaac tries not to be jealous that she's having such an easier time than he is making friends. It's always been like that, anyway. Chantille has always been surrounded by excited, energetic people just like her and Isaac has always been alone. It makes sense that it'd be the same in Beacon Hills. And anyway, he can't complain. He has Allison and...maybe Scott. Isaac thinks he'd like to be friends with Scott, but he can't tell if Scott would like to be friends with him. Scott is so kind to everyone that it's impossible to know if he even likes being around Isaac at all or if he's just being nice.

He hasn't told Chantille about Scott helping him out. As far as she knows he picks Latisha up from school, drops her off at home, and goes to the library to do homework. He doesn't think she'd like it if he told her he was hanging out with the guy who'd gotten him arrested, and Isaac doesn't think he could explain why Scott's not so bad, that he's actually really nice, without sounding pathetic. Especially, since she'd found out that Scott and Allison are dating, Chantille has been...weird around Allison. At first Isaac had thought it was the fact that Allison was involved in the supernatural when he hasn't even really told her about it, but then Chantille asked him if he knew they were dating. Like she was rethinking her opinion of Allison based on her choice in boyfriend.

Isaac should probably have said something, but he figured it would sort itself out. Chantille will get over it and realize that Allison's the same person she's always been, just like she did with him after a couple days. At least he hopes she will. Isaac doesn't want it to be some weird resentment that Allison's dating Scott instead of him. Chantille's stopped bugging him about hooking up with her, but she still looks at him sometimes, when Allison's over, like she wants him to do something, not knowing that there's nothing Isaac can do.

It's not that Isaac's opposed to the idea of having a girl or getting laid. It sounds pretty fucking awesome actually. And it's not like he's opposed to the idea of being with Allison. Allison's really, really...pretty. Yeah, she's hot, she has a great ass and nice small tits that would probably fit perfectly in his hands, but...she also has nice hair and long eyelashes. Her eyes are big and dark, and sometimes Isaac feels like he could drown in them. He likes the way she smiles and her confidence, the way she picked herself up in the wake of her own _murder_, and took control back from those who tried to use her. Isaac wishes he could be more like her, to be honest.

But Allison...Allison is like the porcelain doll in the blue velvet dress that his grandmother used to keep in a glass case on the top shelf on her bookcase. Isaac can look at her, but he can't touch her. He doesn't know why he feels this way. Besides being human and a girl, she's not particularly fragile. She'd shot someone in the head, for fuck's sake. Maybe it's because she's so hopelessly out of his league. Even if she didn't have a boyfriend and Isaac could actually have sex, he doesn't think he'd make a move on her. She's his friend and she's here, but at the same time she just seems so far away. She'd never be interested anyway.

It's not the first time he's felt this way. Isaac's always been drawn to people painfully out of his league. In elementary school there'd been this girl with beautifully plaited brown hair that sat two desks in front of him and Isaac had always stared at the back of her head, wondering what her hair would feel like. In eighth grade there was Janice, who sat as straight as a ruler in the front of the classroom and always raised her hand for every question, ignoring the jeers of their classmates for being a know-it-all and her acne. She hadn't had any friends either, but Isaac was always too intimidated by her perfectly controlled expression and her refusal to let anyone get to her to talk to her. In his high school in LA there was Isabel, who was the tallest Mexican girl he'd ever seen. She was on the basketball team and a year ahead of him and was one of the few people to cross the racial divide and make friends with non-Mexicans.

He'd never even talked to any of those girls, much less become friends with them, but Isaac doesn't think that will change much in Allison's case. She's dating Scott anyway, and Isaac doesn't know why anyone would want to date him when they could be dating Scott. He tries not to think about how pathetic that sentiment is, or the fact that it makes him sound like a fucking faggot.

Another few sessions pass and so does the full moon, with little improvement in his control. Scott looks very worried when he comes to school the next day, exhausted, but Isaac waves his concern away, embarrassed by the attention. Stiles make some horrible comment about why he doesn't just lock himself up, and Isaac bites back a furious retort, something about Stiles's own lack of self-control that makes him flail around like a retard. Stiles is Scott's best friend, and he can't be insulting his friends, no matter how obnoxious they are.

A couple days after the full moon weird things start happening. Isaac, Chantille, and Latisha are eating breakfast on a Saturday morning while Isaac looks over her homework and Latisha babbles happily about some drawn-out game of tag they have going at recess.

"-and then Henry pulled Meredith's hair, and she said that he liked her. So Henry got really mad and he and Charlie threw rocks at Meredith and I and then we went to tell Miss Phillips, and so they got in trouble," Latisha finishes, without stopping to take a breath all the way through. Isaac is kind of impressed.

"Boys are stupid," Chantille tells her matter-of-factly, buttering her piece of toast. "They fuck with you, you have to fuck with them right back or they'll walk all over you.

"True that," Isaac agrees, not in the least bit insulted by Chantille's frank assessment of his sex.

Latisha looks dubious. "Miss Phillips said that's what boys do when they like you. Charlie tried to pull my hair once, but I was too fast."

"Hey, he try to pull your hair again, you kick him in the dick," Isaac tells her seriously, wondering who the fuck was watching these kids during recess. He thought Beacon Hills would take kids fighting more seriously, since they all proper and shit. "Boys shouldn't hit girls."

"Boys shouldn't hit anyone," Chantille mutters, but when he looks up at her she's busy fixing the collar of Latisha's shirt, pointedly not looking at him.

"What if I like them back?" Latisha asks her, taking a bite of her toast and getting crumbs absolutely everywhere.

"What?" Chantille says harshly, stiffening up.

Isaac frowns at her, wondering what her problem is, but Chantille isn't looking at him, her eyes fixed intently on Latisha's face.

"What did you say?" Chantille repeats, sounding angry and Latisha looks away, sinking down a bit in her chair.

"Chantille, what..." Isaac says, looking at her in confusion, and Chantille turns to him, blinking, as if she'd forgotten he was there.

"Nothing," Chantille says, shaking herself a bit and cramming the rest of her toast in her mouth. "Just...stay away from boys, you hear? They no good for you."

"Okay," Latisha says meekly and doesn't look up from her breakfast again.

Isaac tries to ask her what her problem was, because, seriously Latisha was _eight _and this was Beacon Hills. No way they were going anywhere unsupervised, not to mention Latisha was probably the only one of them first-graders that even knew what sex was. What did she think was going to happen? But Chantille won't talk about it and Isaac knows better than to try and make her talk about something she don't want to.

The second weird thing happens the next week at school. Isaac is sitting with Scott and Malia in the library during their afternoon free period, participating in the usual exercise of trying to hold a conversation without swearing or saying anything else that offends the delicate sensibilities of Beacon Hills. (Apparently, you're not supposed to say "cocksucker", who knew?)

"I cannot wait until summer," Malia moans, banging her head against the table. "I hate school. How are people supposed to do twelve years of this? Are you sure I can't just drop out?"

"No," Scott says, at the same time Isaac says, "Well, you could and get your GED instead."

Scott glares at him and Isaac feels his heart jump a bit at his disapproval.

"Or not?" he adds quickly, hoping that will appease him.

"Shut up and do something useful," Malia says, her voice muffled by her Econ textbook. "Like my Econ homework."

"If you want an incomplete, sure," Isaac says, unperturbed by her rudeness. Malia goes back in forth between hating his guts and grudgingly deciding he's not a completely waste of space after all. The latter only really happens when he insults other people, which she always seems to find amusing, because she's a bitch like that.

"It's not that difficult, see," Scott says helpfully, leaning over his own work to look at Malia's Econ worksheet. "You just copy the graph on page 84, with slightly different margins."

"Aren't you supposed to be studying for the SAT?" Malia complains, but lets Scott help with her homework anyway, because she doesn't give a fuck about anyone but herself.

Isaac gets up to go to the bathroom halfway through Scott's explanation about an elastic versus inelastic product (how does she not know this already?) and Scott looks up from Malia's homework.

"Where are you going?" he asks, looking unfairly dismayed at Isaac's departure. It makes his squirm stomach a little.

"Bathroom," Isaac says, trying not to sound confused at why he gives a fuck.

"Why are you taking your stuff?"

"I don't want it to get stolen if you leave before I get back," Isaac almost says, stopping himself at the realization that Scott probably wouldn't abandon his stuff at the table. He doesn't want Scott to earnestly respond that of course he'll wait until Isaac gets back either, because Isaac doesn't really know what to do with that genial look on his face. It just makes him embarrassed and he has a tendency to stutter in his efforts make it go away.

"Oh," he says instead and puts his bag back down, pretending that it was a mistake, and then flees before Scott can say anything else.

He goes to the bathroom on the second floor to clear his head and takes the long way back to the library. He doesn't know why Scott makes him so nervous sometimes. Probably to do with the fact that he's a guy. Isaac is constantly left waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's always had an easier time being friends with girls, not that he's had much practice with the whole friends thing in the first place.

On his way back he hears a loud crash across from the cafeteria, and two boys who look like freshman bolt down the hallway past him and into the stairwell.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" he hears another boy say and turns the corner to see that a vending machine has been upended, shards of broken glass dispersed all over the floor.

The boy standing over it looking annoyed is in a couple of Isaac's classes, David something or other. He looks like he's some weird mix between Chinese and Mexican.

"Hey, Isaac, right?" the boy says, looking up at him. "You think you can help me here?"

"What?" Isaac says, taken aback that this boy knows his name when they've never spoken and that he wants him to help...what? Clean up the glass? Don't they have janitors here? Besides, the bell rings in five minutes, Isaac has to go back to the library to get his stuff.

"Can you, you know, put it back?" the boy says, looking at him meaningfully. "The hallway's going to bottleneck during passing period."

Isaac looks dubiously down at the vending machine. "Do you know how heavy these are? I don't think we'll be able to lift it."

At least believably.

The boy gives him a very, very pointed look and Isaac feels the color drain out of his face. Motherfucker, is there _anyone _in this town who doesn't know he's a werewolf?

"Why?" he asks angrily, crossing her arms over his chest.

The boy scowls at him. "Fine, be that way."

And then he turns around again, presumably to go get someone who's actually supposed to handle this. Isaac returns to the library, feeling more than a little off-balance. He thinks about asking Scott who that guy is, but he's kind of sick of asking Scott so many questions about Beacon Hills. Scott is probably getting sick of it too.

He spends the next two days watching the boy though. He learns his name is Danny and that he's on the lacrosse team with Scott. Scott and Stiles talk to him sometimes in class, but it doesn't seem like they're actually friends. Danny sits with the other jocks instead of Scott's supernatural clique. And weirdest of all, he's a _cocksucker_. He doesn't even try and hide it. Isaac sees him kiss another boy on the mouth in front of his locker and he sees them holding hands later that day. And Isaac has _Gym_ with this guy. He always changes in a bathroom stall anyway, but what about everyone else? Isaac can't imagine changing in front of someone like him, much less _showering_. The mere idea of being stuck alone in the showers with that faggot makes him a little sick.

But nobody else seems to care. No one says anything in the locker room, or when he holds his...boyfriend's (ugh) hand in the hallway. He even seems to be friends with some of the more popular kids at Beacon Hills High, instead of other weirdos.

He knows he's a werewolf, and Isaac tries not to panic, his brain coming up with melodramatic scenarios in which Danny tries to blackmail him into performing sexual favors. He knows it's ridiculous, but he can't help but feel anxious whenever he sees him, even though Isaac's never had a problem with an openly gay guy before, not that he's ever met one. It's always the guys who aren't faggots that have caused him problems, but being around a guy who doesn't even try to hide that he fucks men makes him uneasy.

Isaac resolves to keep away from him.

And finally, weird occurrence number three is back to Chantille again.

She's been kind of pissed off all week, and Isaac can't figure out why. She gets angry at the smallest things, like Latisha finishing the rest of the apple juice and Isaac begging off going shopping with her because he has homework. Even Allison notices when she comes over for dinner on Friday night.

"Did something happen?" Allison asks when he walks her out to her car, throwing a concerned glance back at the house. "She seems...tense."

Isaac shrugs his shoulders helplessly. "Dunno. She been like that all week."

"Did you talk to her about it?" Allison says, looking a little surprised at his nonchalance. "I mean, I don't know her that well, but I've never seen her that upset before."

Upset? Chantille is just pissed off, isn't she?

Allison's phone buzzes before he can respond and she swipes her finger across the touch screen of her phone to look at it, rolling her eyes.

"Your dad?" Isaac guesses.

"Yeah, he is not buying the whole me sleeping over at Lydia's anymore," Allison says with an annoyed sigh. "But whatever, if he wants to come drag me out of Scott's house, then so be it." She looks back at the house again worriedly. "You should talk to her, okay?"

"Okay," Isaac says automatically, trying not to think about what exactly Allison's going to do at Scott's house, because she's on her period-he can smell it, okay?- and fuck, that is way more information than he needed about Scott and Allison's sex life.

When Allison drives off, Isaac goes back into the house where Chantille is loading dishes into the dishwasher while Latisha watches TV out in the living room. Isaac stands next to the sink and watches her for a couple seconds before Chantille gives him an annoyed look.

"Are you going to help or what?" she snaps and Isaac rolls his eyes, taking the pan she hands him and sticking it in the back of the dishwasher.

"Is something wrong?" he asks her carefully, taking a glass next. "You kinda seem...I dunno, upset."

"I'm fine," Chantille says, slamming down a soapy bowl on the counter on top of the dishwasher with far more force than necessary.

"Really?" Isaac asks sarcastically. "You sure seem like it."

"Fuck off," Chantille snarls, turning to look at him with contempt all over her face. "I don't ask you about your freak problems, so don't hassle me about mine."

Isaac feels his chest go cold, his mouth falling open a bit in surprise at her cruel words. He turns away automatically, not wanting her to see the weak look on his face and heads for the door into the hallway.

"Isaac," she says, and it's a testament to how much pain he hears in her voice that he falters in the doorway. "Wait...I'm...I don't know why I said that."

Isaac turns around to see her leaning over the sink, looking out the kitchen window into the badly mowed backyard and pool, still covered in blue tarp. She looks miserable and he can smell her distress as clear as day.

"I don't...I've been in a bad mood lately," she says, still not looking at him.

"No shit," Isaac says, still a little pissed at her for calling him a freak, but he goes over to her all the same, turning off the faucet and standing next to her at the sink again. "Did something happen? With Holly? Or at work?"

He knows Chantille doesn't like her boss, who is apparently one creepy motherfucker. He calls all the female workers "babe" and makes gross comments that he always tries to pass off as jokes whenever anyone complains.

"No...it's stupid." Chantille says, turning on the water again and ducking her head down to start washing the dishes again.

"Apparently not or you wouldn't be so upset," Isaac says impatiently, reaching over to turn off the sink again.

Chantille goes very stiff and drops the plate she was holding in the sink with a loud clunk. Her hands curl into fists and for a second Isaac wonders if she's going to hit him.

"It ain't a big deal," she says slowly, her voice tight.

"It is," Isaac replies, refusing to back down.

Chantille closes her eyes, her face tightening as she struggles to remain calm. It scares Isaac to see her so upset and he has to hold himself back from demanding what happened in a panic.

"I just...I slept with someone at Dakota's party last week and I've been a bitch for no reason ever since. I don't know why," Chantille says, with a casual shrug that Isaac doesn't buy for a second.

"Did you use a rubber?" Isaac asks, horrified and Chantille rolls her eyes at him, turning to look at him for the first time.

"I'm not _pregnant_," she says, like it should be obvious. "And of course I used a fucking rubber, I'm not stupid."

Thank God. The last thing they needed was for Chantille to get pregnant.

Chantille turns back to the dishes, as if that's the end of that. But it isn't. There's something she isn't telling him.

"So that it?" he asks, watching her face carefully.

"That it," she says flatly.

Isaac doesn't say anything, but he doesn't leave either, just stands there watching her. Chantille is good-she holds out until she's finished loading the dishes-but she's not that good.

"It was just really bad sex," she says finally, turning away from the sink to glare at him angrily. "That enough for you or you want details?"

"Bad how?" Isaac asks, feeling sick. "Did he...did he hurt you?"

Chantille's eyes go soft for a second, looking at him with such pity that Isaac stiffens up in surprise. She's never looked at him like that before. But then he blinks and her face is impassive again.

"Nah, I was just... really tired, so I didn't really want to," she says, shrugging. "And he was completely fucked up, so it wasn't like he any good."

But Isaac can only hear the "I didn't really want to" echo over and over again through his mind.

"He...he made you-" he manages to choke out.

"Not like that," Chantille says, rolling her eyes. "We was just flirting all night and...it's just what you do, you know." She lets out an unamused laugh and looks away from him, at the kitchen table. "Or maybe you don't."

Isaac doesn't know what to say to that, so he keeps his mouth shut, trying to will his heartrate down.

"Was this Dakota's cousin?" he asks, when he can be sure his voice won't shake.

"Yeah."

"He still staying at her place?"

Chantille turns to give him an annoyed look. "What you going to? Punch him? For what? He didn't do nothing wrong, it was me."

"What do you mean?"

Chantille looks back at the kitchen table, her face going hard. "Nothing. I just..." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "It was the first time since...you know." Her face contorts a bit and for a horrible second Isaac thinks she's going to cry, but then she manages to get control again. "I thought it'd feel different, not getting paid for it. But it didn't. It felt exactly the same."

Her voice is hollow and she clutches the counter, her arms twitching spastically.

"I felt like a doll," she whispers, eyes closed and head bowed. "Like I wasn't even a person. Just some wet hole for any fool to fuck when he please."

"Chantille, don't-" Isaac says hoarsely.

"God, I'm such an idiot," she continues, and he doesn't think she heard him at all. "I should've known better. I talked to Holly the other day, but I couldn't...I couldn't tell her. She'd laugh."

"She wouldn't," Isaac says, blinking back the water in his eyes and fighting to keep his voice level. Holly is a bitch, but she wouldn't ever laugh at something like this, he knows that much.

Chantille sinks down the cabinet under the sink to the floor and buries her face in her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs to tightly that it looks painful.

"I used to like fucking, you know," she says tearfully, her hands coming up to grip the tips of her hair, reminding Isaac strangely of Allison. "And now...now I don't think I want anyone to touch me again." She takes a shaky breath, sounding on the edge of a sob, and Isaac looks out the door into the living room to make sure Latisha isn't paying attention to them.

"Is it that way for you?" Chantille asks and Isaac goes very still for a second.

Eventually he lets out a heavy sigh and sits down next to her against the cabinet, resting his arms on his knees out in front of him.

"Sort of," he says quietly. It's true anyway. It would probably be a lot more annoying not being able to get laid if he wasn't so terrified of people. But he can't trust people with that sort of thing, getting so close to him. Some part of Isaac has never really understood how other people do it.

"At...at least he didn't make me suck his cock," Chantille says. She doesn't sound like she's crying anymore. Her voice has absolutely no emotion in it. "I hate that. They'd pull my hair really hard and I'd _always_ choke. I had jizz stuck in my throat all day and sometimes my jaw got so sore I could barely talk. Got a cold in October and couldn't even breathe through my nose. Just had to hope I wouldn't pass out."

Isaac puts his arm very carefully around her shoulders, closing his eyes when she lets out a sob and her head falls against his shoulder.

"_Fuck_, Isaac, I _hate_ men," she sobs and Isaac grips her shoulder and doesn't argue, because he kind of hates men too. It is not a coincidence that all of the people he's let live with him so far have been women. He never would've invited Allison to stay with them if she had been a boy.

"Chantille?" Latisha says, coming into the room, her eyes wide and scared. "What's wrong?"

"No-nothing, go up to your room, baby," Chantille sobs, not daring to look up at her.

"Go on now," Isaac says shakily when Latisha doesn't move, wiping his own tears furiously. "Go do your homework."

"Okay," Latisha says worriedly, but does as she's told, looking back at them over her shoulder in confusion as she heads for the stairs.

Chantille lies on his shoulder, taking short gasping breaths. Her hands fall to the floor, and Isaac looks down at the one closest to him, limp, small, and dark against the white tile. He reaches down to clasp her hand and winds their fingers together. Chantille makes a horrible choking sound and grips his hand back tightly, while Isaac stares blankly ahead out of the kitchen and through the living room window to the late-spring twilight sky in the distance.

* * *

A couple days later he's out in the forest preserve again with Scott, making absolutely no progress as usual.

"You want some water?" Scott asks, wiping the sweat off his brow while Isaac leans over with his hands on his knees and pants after yet another failed attempt.

Isaac shakes his head, too tired to speak. He can't believe Scott's patience. They've been at this for almost two weeks and Isaac still remains a slavering monster intent on ripping the throat out of anyone in his path.

"Look, not that it's any of my business, but maybe you need to rethink what you're looking for in an anchor," Scott says and Isaac looks up at him questioningly, wondering if he's finally getting sick of Isaac's failure. "Remember, your anchor doesn't have to be a person. It can be an idea or a feeling too."

That...doesn't really help. Isaac had been trying to think about his childhood and his family before things went bad, but he finds he can no longer separate the good moments from the bad ones. He used to be able to, especially right after his dad went to prison, but five years of bitterness have made him realize how resentful he is of his family. Every time he remembers his dad taking him and Camden to Six Flags for his birthday when he was seven, he also remembers that after they'd gone home, he'd shoved him in the front hall closet for not getting out of the car fast enough and left him there for hours. Or even though Camden helped him with his homework sometimes, he also followed his father's lead and used Isaac like his own personal punching bag, especially when he brought friends home. And his mother was always watching silently in the background, her cigarette in hand, as indifferent to her children as she was indifferent to traffic laws.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Isaac is even glad they're all dead.

The problem is then, that Isaac doesn't have anything to hold on to. His grandmother was nice, actually seemed to like him, but she started to forget who he was by the end, and thinking about her and what life could have been like if she'd lived just makes him too sad. Chantille and Latisha rely on him, not the other way around, and besides, Isaac has no illusions that they'll stay with him forever. The future holds no hope for him, no marriage or family or children. Isaac has resigned himself to the fact that he will most likely aimlessly drift through the rest of his life, untethered by anyone or anything. And that's okay. At least he'll be free.

He can't tell any of this to Scott though, so he just nods and says. "Okay."

Scott gives him an encouraging smile and Isaac feels a twinge of guilt at wasting his time like this. Scott is so nice. To be honest, Isaac wonders why people haven't completely taken advantage of his kindness before.

Isaac stands up straight and swallows. Please let me not fuck this up, he thinks, and lets the wolf wash over him.

The first thing that he always notices is his hearing. He can hear _everything_,from the birds in the trees up above, to the insects crawling around in the trees and under the dirt. Then the scents of the forest around him assail his nose, and that always makes him wince. His fangs and claws lengthen and hair bursts through the skin on the side of his face. When he opens his eyes everything is perfectly clear and Isaac's blood boils with the desire to sink his teeth into the neck of some squirming living thing and feel its hot blood drip down his mouth.

The other wolf is in front of him and Isaac snarls at him angrily, aware that he is in the way of his sport. The other wolf growls back, his eyes glinting red, and Isaac tenses, wary of his strength, but itching for a fight anyway, even if it's one he'll lose. He'd just love to drag his claws through the other wolf's chest, leave him bleeding and helpless on the forest floor, unable to stop Isaac from ravaging his body in any way h-

"Isaac," the other wolf says, stepping closer, and Isaac's eyes drop to his throat, bare and perfect. He can see his pulse jumping, shining with sweat and Isaac longs to get his teeth in it and just _rip_. "Focus."

Scott's going to be so disappointed, he thinks out of nowhere, and Isaac is so startled that he stops in his tracks. Who is Scott?

"Isaac," the other wolf says again, looking at his face carefully. He doesn't seem afraid of Isaac, even though he must know how much Isaac wants to hurt him. Is he Scott?

Please don't fuck this up, Isaac thinks again, just as unexpectedly and for a moment Isaac is caught between the urge to claw Scott's face off and the desire to cower in humiliation at his abject failure.

"Isaac?"

"Just...give me...a second," Isaac says, the words feeling strange in his mouth. It would be so much easier to growl, but Scott won't be able to understand that.

Isaac closes his eyes and tries to concentrate. Human. He has to be human now. He can't be an animal.

Thinking that doesn't seem to tip the balance between violent werewolf and normal human. He's stuck in a limbo between them, frozen only because he's forcing down the urge to kill something with everything he has. So Isaac does the only thing he can think of and digs his claws into his palms.

"Hey, no!" Scott yelps and lunges forward to grab his hands, pulling them in front of him and clasping them tightly to prevent Isaac from using his claws.

Isaac blinks in surprise at the sudden proximity between them. Were Scott's eyes always so brown? His scent is...right there, too. He smells like sweat and soap and shampoo, nothing remarkable really, but it shocks him all the same. He'd never given much thought to what Scott smelled like. He doesn't really like doing that to people around him. It's always seemed kind of gross.

Scott's hands are very warm on his too, and Isaac looks down at them next, puzzled why Scott's holding them. He sees blood, even though he doesn't feel any pain.

Scott's going to get blood on him, Isaac thinks and tries to pull away, but Scott won't let him.

"Isaac," he says firmly, looking Isaac right in the eyes, trapping him with his gaze. "You need to focus."

Focus, Isaac thinks dazedly, unable to look away from Scott's eyes. Scott wants him to get control of himself.

That thought drowns everything else out in his head, even the nasty growling thing that demands blood and Isaac suddenly realizes that Scott is standing very close, fucking holding his hands. Isaac tries to jerk away, turning his head to the side in embarrassment. Scott's too close; he usually tries to avoid being this close to people if he can help it.

"Isaac?" Scott says, sounding so fucking hopeful that Isaac raises his eyes carefully.

"You can let go of my hands now," Isaac says gruffly and almost breathes a sigh of relief when he does and takes a large step back.

He holds one hand in front of him and examines his brownish-yellow claws, shocked by how easy it is to retract them. Isaac carefully reaches up to touch his pointed ears-he's seen them before in the reflection of windows or water, but he's never touched them. They're pretty strange, but not as strange as the ridged feel of his face and the course hair on his cheeks.

"Huh," he says and then wills his face to go back to normal, elation rising in his chest when it does at his command.

"You did it!" Scott says excitedly, looking like a happy puppy. Isaac tries half-heartedly to remember that Scott is dangerous, but he's too shocked by his own luck to put much effort into it.

"It's always that easy?" he asks without thinking, still too stunned to censor himself.

"Yup," Scott says with a pleased grin. "I know, I was shocked too, but you get used to it after a while. Full moons require a bit more effort, but it's more annoying than anything. Wanna go again?"

"Okay," Isaac says, but now that the surprise and elation has worn off, a dull sense of unease is slowing working its way up his throat.

It's Scott. Scott is his anchor.

He tries to deny it, tries to tell himself that it's ridiculous and he has to be wrong. He doesn't even know Scott that well. He still can't tell if they're really friends or if Scott is just being nice.

But out of everything, what gave him control was the idea that Scott wanted him to, and he didn't want to disappoint him.

He's so fucking pathetic.

"Ready?" Scott asks, smiling at him.

Isaac tries to smile back, but all he can think of is how fucked he is.

**A/N: More progress, but in the most depressing way possible! I feel like that should be my motto... Please review!**


	23. Allison V

"Okay, so you remember Hooke's Law, right?" Allison says, flipping through the review packet. "So if you look at the problem, you can tell that you need to apply Hooke's Law because it has to do with-Isaac?

"I give up," Isaac moans, head resting on the top of the library table. "I'm just going to fail."

"You're not going to fail," Allison says, rolling her eyes at his melodrama. "You just need to review. It'll be okay, I promise."

It's June now and finals start in nine days. Isaac is doing okay in most of his classes, but he's failing Physics and he needs to get at least a B on the final to pass. They're in the school library half an hour after the last bell and Isaac is already overwhelmed by the mere thought of reviewing the semester. To be honest, Allison should be in far worse straits than him considering she's only been in school for the past two months, but as far as she can tell Isaac doesn't really know how to study. His note-taking skills are abysmal and while he's good at memorization, he has no idea how to apply the formulas they've been learning to solving test problems.

"Actually sitting down and going over each chapter will do you wonders," Allison tells him, prodding the textbook in front of him with her finger.

"You mean I have to re-read _the entire book_?" Isaac says, aghast, raising his head to look at her in dismay.

"You do understand that they're called "finals" for a reason, don't you?"

"Hey!" Scott's voice comes from across the library and Allison turns around to see him walking towards them from across the room. He's wearing his gym uniform and beams at them as he approaches. "You guys studying for finals already?"

"Not all of us just shotgun Red Bull all weekend to cram," Allison says, raising an eyebrow at his attire. "What are you still doing here? I thought you were hanging out with Stiles."

"Coach made us stay late to do weight training," Scott says with a helpless shrug, managing somehow to look frustrated and good-natured at the same time.

"Isn't lacrosse season over?" Isaac asks him, giving Scott a brief once-over.

"I don't think he cares," Scott replies, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Anyway, lifting weights is apparently extremely boring when you're a werewolf, so I'm ditching." He frowns a little, looking down at the stuff on their table. "Stiles isn't with you?"

Allison shakes her head. "No, he wasn't in the weight lifting room with the rest of the team?"

Scott's face goes very serious for a second, his eyes tired, and Allison wonders exactly how bad things are with Stiles that Scott seems to worry over him constantly. She's never been close with Stiles, but even she can tell he seems more anxious now, not to mention she's not exactly sure what's going on between him and Malia.

"Hey, we should meet at my house to study tomorrow," Scott says cheerfully, as if he was never worried about Stiles at all. "I need to brush up on Physics anyway and I think my Mom said she was making gorditas."

"Sounds like fun," Allison says, privately thinking that she could use Scott's help too. Coming back to life during the middle of the semester did have its disadvantages.

She turns to look at Isaac and is surprised to see the unhappy look on his face. He looks like Scott just invited him to jump off a cliff, not to eat one of his favorite foods for dinner. It occurs to Allison that Isaac has never hung out with any of them besides her outside of school. Learning to control his werewolf powers with Scott a couple afternoons a week doesn't really count.

"Uh, no, I can't, I have work," Isaac mumbles, even though she knows that he doesn't work on Saturdays until three, hunching over a bit and looking at Scott's shoulder instead of his face.

"Oh, okay," Scott says, looking a little hurt, clearly having noticed the lie. "Well, I better get back to the weight room before Coach goes ballistic. See you."

He gives Allison a meaningful look as he turns to leave and Allison gives him a short nod, as if to say _message received_. She waits until he's out of the library for more than a minute before turning back to raise an eyebrow at Isaac. He doesn't notice, though, because he's looking down at the review packet as if he's trying to burn a hole in it with his stare, his pencil hanging out of his mouth.

"What was that?" Allison asks after a moment, when he doesn't look up.

"Hm?" Isaac says, his eyes still fixed on his paper. He's still hunched over with his elbows on the table, looking little a little kid trying to avoid getting punished at the dinner table.

"Isaac," she says reprovingly and he squints up at her innocently, like he doesn't know exactly what she's talking about. "Why'd you say no? You could come over tomorrow morning."

"He wasn't talking to me, he was talking to you," Isaac says, shrugging his shoulders matter-of-factly.

"He said _we_ should study at his house tomorrow."

"He was just being polite," Isaac says dismissively. "And I ain't stupid enough to think he want me around his mom anyway."

Allison frowns and opens her mouth to ask him exactly what _that's_ supposed to mean when Isaac's cell phone buzzes in his pocket and he fishes it out and flips it open.

"Yeah?...Latisha, you know I be studying right now...It's only for another hour or so, it's not that bad...Can't you wait unt...Alright, alright, I'm coming. See you in a bit."

He flips the phone shut and rolls his eyes. "Latisha complaining about the aftercare program again. I have to go pick her up now."

"Okay, but you should really come tomorrow," Allison insists as he stuffs his papers and textbook haphazardly into his backpack.

"Yeah, sure," Isaac says noncommittally, not looking at her, and leaves without a word of goodbye, leaving Allison staring in annoyance at his back.

He isn't coming, Allison thinks morosely, gathering up her own things. But why not? She thought he and Scott were friends now. And what was that about him thinking Scott wouldn't want him around Melissa? Where did he get that impression? Maybe Isaac didn't know that Melissa knew about Scott being a werewolf, but Allison's sure it must have come up in the last few weeks. It seemed like a ridiculous assumption to make anyway.

She'd better ask Lydia to come over too, she thinks on her way home. She and Scott never get any studying done by themselves.

Lydia can't come, though. So Allison ends up sitting in Scott's living room with a bunch of books as they look through their notes for Physics and Trig, while Melissa cooks and glances at them through the kitchen door every once and a while. It is extremely awkward. Allison never realized it before, but she guesses she never really spent much time around Scott's mom while they were dating last year. By the time things got serious they'd had to hide their relationship, and so they'd never had to deal with Melissa's suspicions that they were going to sneak upstairs to have sex the second she wasn't watching them.

Still, they do end up getting a lot of studying done and Allison feels far better equipped to help Isaac review in preparation for their final.

"Five minutes!" Melissa calls from the kitchen, where the smell of delicious spices are emanating from. "Scott, can you set the table for four?"

"For four?" Scott frowns, looking up from the back of their Trig textbook for the answers to the practice questions. "Who else is coming?"

Scott's mother doesn't answer and Scott gets to his feet, walking to stick his head through the kitchen door. "Mom?"

Just then the doorbell rings and for a second Allison wonders if Isaac decided to come after all, before she remembers that he'd be at work by now.

Scott goes very still in the kitchen doorway and then slowly turns to look at the front door, his jaw suddenly clenched.

"You have _got _to be kidding me!" Scott says loudly, whirling back to Melissa in the kitchen. She can't see his face, but his tone of voice is livid and there's only a couple things that bring out that side of Scott. Only one would be coming over for dinner.

"Don't look at me like that," Melissa says disapprovingly over the sounds of shifting cutlery. "You know I can't give you any notice in advance or you'll "suddenly" get called in to work."

"Mom, you do realize that he thinks Allison faked her death in some elaborate hoax that involved her father _misidentifying her body _and burying someone else in her place. He tried to get a subpoena for her file at the Sheriff's Station and another to dig up her grave!"

"Yeah, maybe I should go," Allison says quickly, getting to her feet as well.

The judge had refused to issue the subpoenas because she was just relieved that Allison was alive, instead of another dead teenager in Beacon Hills (the fact that she was a personal friend of the Sheriff helped too) but it could have gone quite badly for them if it had gone through. Digging up her grave would have revealed that not only was there no body in her coffin, but also that the ground above it had clearly been disturbed, and most likely signs that her body had been stolen. Her file most certainly contained photos from her autopsy in the death report, though she's pretty sure the Sheriff has destroyed them by now, resulting in another whole set of problems.

Besides, Allison has no interest in getting to know Scott's father, even if he wasn't an FBI agent or that she'd set a smoke bomb off to get away from him questioning her and Scott about her father's suspicious weapons collection and disappearance. Scott doesn't like him and that's good enough for her.

"No, you need to be here," Melissa says, coming out into the living room and wincing when the doorbells rings again. "He's not going to stop asking around about you until you convince him you're harmless."

"What?" Allison says, completely blindsided by Melissa's subterfuge and by the appalled look on Scott's face as he turns to look at her, he feels the same way.

Melissa gives them an apologetic look, without managing to seem at all apologetic and walks through the living room to open the front door.

"Rafe," she says with a curt nod. "Come on in."

Scott's father enters the house almost hesitantly, looking between her and Scott like he has as little of an idea of what to expect as they do. Allison turns to look at Scott automatically and sees his jaw tighten, glaring daggers at his father.

"Hello, Scott," Scott's father says, nodding at him far more seriously than the situation calls for. "Allison."

Scott's mouth twists and he turns on his heel to go into the kitchen without a word.

Melissa shrugs helplessly at Scott's father. "Dinner'll be ready in a second, come on in," she says easily, clearly satisfied just by Scott and his father being in the same room together, and follows Scott back into the kitchen.

"So, how've you been?" Scott's father asks her, giving her a suspicious look that makes it quite obvious that he has no interest in small talk.

"Fine," Allison says shortly, hoping that it won't take much longer for dinner to be ready so she doesn't have to be alone with him any longer than she has to.

Scott's dad raises an eyebrow when she doesn't continue. "Still not going to elaborate on why you decided faking your own death to run away to Phoenix or wherever was a good idea? Or how you managed to get away with it?"

"Is _that_ the latest theory?" Allison ask, affecting disbelief. "I thought FBI agents only believed in conspiracy theories in bad TV. I swear, Agent McCall, my being declared dead was a case of mistaken identity, one that I regret deeply."

Scott's father scoffs. "You're a horrible liar," he says, glaring at her in disgust. "For one, how did you get your father to go along with it? And who exactly did they bury at your funeral? Because there's someone else in your grave right now who's family doesn't even know she's dead. Not to mention you let all your friends, including my _son_, think you died in a carjacking gone wrong for months, a carjacking that I'm not convinced you didn't set up yourself, though I have no idea why you would go to such lengths. Just because no one else is asking questions in this town doesn't mean I'm going to give up until I find out exactly what happened."

"Fine, you caught me," Allison says rolling her eyes and holding her hands up as if she's under arrest. "I'm a zombie. No set up, no conspiracy, I just rose from the grave."

She hears a plate fall on the kitchen table probably a lot harder than it was meant to, and tries very hard not to wince at the thought of the look on Scott's face right now. She should probably be more sensitive to the five months of grieving he'd went through, but it was _her_ death. She should be able to joke about it if she wants. It seems better than trying to tiptoe around the fact that it happened or pretend she doesn't have horrible nightmares about oni stabbing her over and over.

Scott's father gives her a look like he thinks she's disturbed, which, okay, yeah, she probably shouldn't be joking about her cover story, which states that her decision to run away to Phoenix for five months _accidentally_ resulted in her father and friends, most notably his estranged son, thinking she had been murdered in a carjacking, attending her funeral, and grieving over her death. But Allison is sick of Scott's father coming back around when Scott clearly doesn't want anything to do with him, and even if he does find out the truth, there's no way anyone would believe him anyway.

"Dinner!" Melissa calls before Scott's father can say anything else and Allison hastily turns to walk into the kitchen, taking a deep breath to brace herself for the ordeal to come.

It's bad. Scott is furious and spends most of the meal glaring at his parents. Allison tries to seem harmless like Melissa clearly wants her, but she's pretty sure she comes off as delusional at best and callous at worst. Melissa and Scott's father keep trying to get Scott to contribute to the conversation, but Scott does not budge and responds to their leading questions with short, nondescript answers, unforgiving of his mother's deception.

Allison just tries to remember that it's still not as bad as the dinner with Scott, her father and mother, and psychotic grandfather, while they all plotted against each other and pretended not to know that Scott was a werewolf. But to be honest, part of her is relieved when hunters kick down the front door.

Melissa screams at the sound of the door breaking and Allison throws herself out of her chair away from the doorway, grabbing at the knife she's been keeping in her boot ever since their first confrontation. Scott and his father both leap to their feet as two men in dark jackets turn the corner, assault rifles in hand.

"What the hell do you think you're-" Scott's father starts, grabbing for his sidearm, but Scott is faster, leaping over the table, causing dishes to crash to the floor and spilling food everywhere.

He grabs one of the men's guns, the one with the blond buzzcut, but the other one, a middle-aged guy with a bushy brown beard, shoots multiple rounds in his stomach.

"Scott!" Melissa screams as Scott flies back into the table with a roar of pain, blood already spurting from the bullet holes in his gray t-shirt.

"Don't fucking move!" the blond man yells, shoving the end of his gun in Scott's father's face. "Drop your weapon or I shoot!"

Scott's father's mouth drops open, his face pale as he looks between the hunters and his son bleeding on the floor, but Allison sees none of it, all of her attention fixed on Scott's pained expression as he clutches his chest and gasps for breath amidst the broken dishes.

No, Allison thinks, her vision going red, no, this is not happening again. They don't get to do this again.

Scott's father is trying to say something, taking his hand off his sidearm slowly, and Allison's blade finds her mark in the blond hunter's side. The blond hunter goes still, looking down at the knife between his ribs and lets out a disbelieving gasping noise before he falls to his knees. His bearded comrade swears and turns to Allison with his gun, but Scott's dad punches him in the face before he can shoot. The hunter stumbles but doesn't go down and lunges at Scott's dad before he can draw his gun. They struggle and Allison can't see an opportunity to use her other knife without the chance of hitting Scott's dad, so she scrambles to her feet, looking around the kitchen for another weapon, maybe something she can use to hit him with.

But before she gets the chance, Scott springs to his feet with a furious roar, eyes glowing scarlet and fangs lengthening. The other hunter barely manages to look in his direction before Scott hauls him off his father and tosses him back into the living room, breaking the coffee table in the center with a crash. Scott follows with a growl, so fast she can barely see him move, and Allison runs past Scott's father, knife raised, ready to throw at a second's notice, but there's no need. The hunter makes a feeble attempt to raise his gun, looking dazed from his collision with the coffee table and Scott knocks him out like a light.

For a second, no one moves of says anything. The only sound in the house is of the blond hunter's whimpering breaths. Scott stands over the unconscious body, and she can't see his face, but there's something about the stiffness of his back, the strength of his shoulders, that causes Allison to double-take. She can't see his expression, but she knows even if she could she probably wouldn't recognize it at all.

Then the blond hunter on the kitchen floor makes a pained sound, trying to crawl over to his fallen gun and Allison kicks his head against the floor to knock him out. When she looks up, she sees Scott's father looking at her, horrified, before he turns back to Scott.

"We need...we need to call an ambulance," he gasps out, looking very white. "Melissa, please, we have to, Scott, sit down and just wait for the ambulance, okay?"

None of them move, or say anything, and Scott's dad whirls around to look at Melissa, who is still standing frozen next to the kitchen table, her hands clasped over her mouth.

Scott lets out a pained sound, his shoulders sagging and groans, clawed hands coming around to clutch at his chest.

"Scott," Melissa says, her voice high and shrill. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah..." Scott says unsteadily, swaying a bit. "I think...I think it's wolfsbane."

Allison only has a second to process the sudden cold wave of fear that washes through her and then Melissa is running past her and Scott towards the front door. Allison hears her heavy footfalls on the stairs and walks out further into the living room, putting her hand gently on Scott's shoulder.

"Scott," she says softly, pulling him back a little. "C'mon, Scott, sit on the couch, okay?"

Scott groans and turns her way, his eyes still red and fangs out. He looks wan and Allison can see he's already sweating, hunched over a little in pain. Scott's dad must see his face, because Scott looks at him for a split-second before he focuses back on her again. Allison helps him onto the couch and Scott whimpers at the new strain on his wounds as his back hits the couch.

"Scott?" Scott's dad says shakily, still unmoving in the kitchen doorway.

Scott ignores him, focusing on breathing very shallowly and doesn't protest when Allison gently lifts up his gray shirt to examine the bullet wounds. There's five of them and Allison's never seen bullet wounds so large. Each is the size of a golf ball. It's a miracle that none of them hit his heart.

Scott must see the horror in her face because he reaches up to clasp her hand.

"It's okay," he tells her, even though agony is written all over his face. "I'll be okay."

Allison nods shakily and then whirls around at the sound of Scott's father moving behind her. He's taken out his cell phone and Allison leaves Scott's side to stride across the room and grab it out of his hand before he can call 911.

"Don't do that," she tells him angrily, throwing his phone across the room.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Scott's dad yells at her, and he looks so much like Scott in that moment that it disturbs her. He has the same moral indignation all over his face, the same shape of his mouth. He makes to follow his phone, but Allison grabs him arm to stop him.

"Sit down and shut up," she says, irrationally furious at him for making her leave Scott, even though his reaction is perfectly understandable.

"Are you kidding me?" Scott's dad yells, struggling out of her grip. "My _son_ has been _shot _and you're trying to stop me from-"

He's cut off as Melissa thunders down the stairs and flies back into the living room with a small black bag. She runs to Scott's side pours the bag's contents out on the seat cushion next to him.

"Allison, help me hold him," she says flatly and Allison abandons Scott's father to sit on Scott's other side, wrapping one arm around his back and gripping his bicep with the other one. Scott moans in pain as she steadies him and she press a quick kiss to his sweaty brow, whispering: "Shh, shh, Scott, it's okay," even as a small, dark part of her wonders if _he's_ going to die in _her_ arms this time. Melissa grabs a ceramic coaster and pours the small bag of dried wolfsbane onto it, setting fire to it with a small lighter. Her hands are shockingly steady as she pours the burning wolfsbane onto his wounds and Allison is so distracted by her razor-sharp focus even as her son lies bleeding grievously before her that she almost forgets to hold back Scott when he roars in pain and tries to squirm away from the burning wolfsbane.

Scott rakes his claws into the sofa, tearing the fabric, while Allison tries her best to hold him back. After a minute the bullet wounds start to shrink and Scott sags back into her, his head lulling back onto her shoulder.

"Scott?" Melissa says worriedly, only now her eyes brimming with tears.

"'M okay," Scott mumbles, his eyes still closed and Allison turns her head to press her cheek against his, closing her eyes to hold back tears of her own.

"What the hell?" Scott's father chokes, but Allison doesn't bother to look at him, kissing Scott's cheek, watching Scott's dark, warm eyes open into slits.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Melissa asks shakily, wiping her eyes.

Scott blinks and winces as he attempt to sit up, pushing his bloody shirt down his chest with clumsy hands. He groans when Melissa puts her hand on his shoulder and ducks his head down.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just give me a second," he grunts and wiggles a bit until the warped bullets come loose and spill onto the floor.

Scott raises his head, his face tight and hard, but his eyes are clear of pain. He stands with no difficultly, squeezing his mother's shoulder, and turns to look at the fallen hunters.

"Allison," he says slowly. "If they know who I am, then..."

It takes her a second to realize what he means, and then she grabs for her own phone and dialing for her dad. Scott does the same, completely ignoring his father. Fear rises in Allison's chest as her phone rings and rings, finally ending up with her father's voicemail.

"My dad..." she says, looking at Scott in horror. "He's not answering his phone. He...he _always _answers his phone."

Scott's eyes widen, but Stiles picks up before he can say anything.

"Stiles!" Scott says, gasping in relief. "Stiles, are you okay?...You sound weird, are you sur...look, we just got attacked by hunters and Allison's dad isn't answering his phone. No, I don't know about your dad-"

"I got him!" Melissa says, still sitting on the couch, holding her phone up to her ear with bloody hands. "He's still at work...but he says there have been multiple calls about gunshots around town."

"What about my dad?" Allison asks her, panicked. "Does he know anything about-"

"Sorry," Melissa says, shaking her head, her face very white. "The reports just came in, he doesn't know anything yet."

"Stiles, come over here right now," Scott is saying, starting to pace a little in front of the unconscious hunter. "Yeah, we're calling everyone now, just get here."

He hangs up while Allison is already calling for Lydia, looking edgy and on the verge of panic.

"What do you mean he sounded weird?" Melissa asks Scott, looking concerned.

"Nothing, he was just sleeping," Scott says shortly. "Dammit, Malia's not answering. You think she just isn't near her phone? She does that sometimes."

"Lydia's not answering either," Allison says, feeling cold. "Scott, we have to get over there right now or-shit, Isaac!"

But Isaac doesn't respond either and Allison starts to feel her chest contract, like she can't get enough air into her lungs.

"The Sheriff's sending people to Lydia's, Malia's, and your father's, do you want to add Isaac to the list?" Melissa asks Allison and Allison nods, gripping her cell phone tightly, and trying not to think of the worst, when it buzzes in her hands.

It's a text message. From Isaac.

_What_ it says simply.

"It's from Isaac!" Allison says, quickly calling him back.

Isaac answers on the third ring. "What?" he hisses, sounding like he's trying to keep his voice down. "Allison, I'm at work. I told you I couldn't come to-"

"Isaac, you need to get out of there right now," Allison says, cutting him off. "Hunters just attacked us and my father, Lydia, and Malia aren't answering their phones."

There is a pause. "What?" he says finally.

"Put him on speaker phone," Scott orders and Allison complies automatically, holding her phone out on the palm of her hand.

"Isaac, come here right now, they could be after you too," Scott says, coming to stand next to her and looking down at her phone determinedly.

"Here?" Isaac asks incredulously. "You think they'd...oh, fuck, how am I supposed to-my shift doesn't end until-"

"Tell them you have a family emergency!" Allison says, her voice going shrill. "Just get out of there!"

"Jesus fucking Christ, I'm coming," Isaac says and hangs up.

"Allison, we can't wait for him, we have to go-"

"I know," Allison says, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to steady herself. "Check their pockets, they might have something useful."

Scott immediately goes over to the bearded hunter, looking through his jacket pockets. Allison walks back to the kitchen door and drops down beside the blond hunter, noting the blood seeping through his jacket and onto the floor. They should probably take him to the hospital if they didn't want him to bleed out.

"Is someone going to explain what the hell is going on here?" Scott's dad yells, looking at all of them with disbelieving eyes.

"Sit down and shut up," Scott tells him coldly, not looking up from the bearded hunter's pockets.

"Scott, you just-"

"Rafe, shut up!" Melissa yells, covering the speaker on her phone with her hand. "Scott, the Sheriff says Chris' apartment has one dead hunter in it and Lydia's is completely empty, signs of a struggle."

"My dad's not there?!" Allison says, her stomach twisting in fear. Had the hunters kidnapped her dad and Lydia?

"What about Malia?" Scott asks, giving up on looking at the hunters' things. It's the same as last time, no IDs, nothing but weapons and ammo.

"They haven't gotten there yet."

"Will someone please tell me-" Scott's dad starts, but then Scott's phone buzzes and he answers it immediately.

"Malia! What happened? Are you ok-" He stops and his face goes very serious. "Are they dead?" he asks finally, and Allison's heart jumps into her throat. "What about your dad, did he...okay. Okay, Malia? Malia, it's going to be fine, the Sheriff's sending people over now...No, no, no, he'll be fine, Malia, the Sheriff will take care of it. It was self-defense, alright? Listen as soon as you can get out of there, call me okay? We need to deal with this _now_."

Allison's phone buzzes and her face falls when she sees that it's just Isaac again, not her father or Lydia.

"Hey, are you almost here?" she answers with, gripping the hilt of her knife tightly to prevent herself from shaking.

"Yeah, kinda got a problem here," Isaac says, sounding tense. "I've had a black SUV following me for the past two miles. So either I got a hit out on me by the local drug crew or they're on to me too."

"Shit!" Allison says, meeting eyes with Scott and seeing he's heard as well. "Where are you?"

"Just about to drive through the Beacon Hills Forest Preserve, which I realize is the beginning of every horror movie ever, so-"

"Wait, isn't the pool right there?" Scott says, coming to stand right in front of her to talk into her phone, even though Isaac is a werewolf and could undoubtedly hear him on the other side of the room. "Right before the road goes into the forest preserve, right? Go there."

"You want me to go to the pool?" Isaac says skeptically.

"It's only six, it doesn't close until seven or eight, right?" Scott says, that look on his face that means his mind's racing. "They'll be tons of people there, you might be able to lose them, and even if you can't they won't do anything in front of that many people."

"O-Okay," Isaac says, sounding uncertain. "Scott, you don't think they'd go to my house, right? Because Chantille and Latisha are there by themselves..."

"No, they're only after you," Allison says, with more confidence than she feels, because what if they tried to take them hostage? But she doesn't want to put that into Isaac's head, especially when he's still in danger himself. "Listen, we've got to go, okay? Just play it safe and call us if anything else happens."

"Right," Isaac says shakily and hangs up. Allison lowers her phone and tries not to think that that could have been her last conversation with Isaac.

"What's going on with Malia?" she asks, clearing her throat and trying to get her bearings. "Did she..."

"No, her dad shot them," Scott says, typing out a message on his phone, presumably for Stiles.

"Oh," Allison says, shoulders sinking in relief. "Did he find out that she's..."

"I don't think so. She said they said some things, but he wasn't really listening," Scott replies and Allison holds back a smirk. Malia's father is a psycho, but at least he's on their side. The hunters probably thought they were really clever, attacking them all one by one, but they had no idea what they were getting into. They are not going to go down without a fight.

"Alright, that's enough!" Scott's dad shouts, so unexpected that both Scott and Allison jump in surprise. "You are both going to explain what the hell is going on."

"Rafe..." Melissa starts, getting up off the couch and holding her hands up pacifyingly. "You need to calm down and-"

"This has nothing to do with you!" Scott says furiously, striding towards his father purposefully. "Just get out, you do not want to be here right now."

"Nothing to do with me?" Scott's dad repeats, his face twisted in anger and frustration. "You're my son and this is the second time this house has been broken into by people who want to _kill_ you. You've shown up at half a dozen crime scenes in the past couple months, and God knows what you were doing before then. Just what are you two involved with here?" he asks, looking between Scott and Allison, breathing heavily with exertion. "And your...face..." he says, slowly, like he just remembered. "He _shot _you...how...how did you-"

"You don't want to know," Scott snaps at him and then turns his head towards the window. "Stiles is here," he tells her, his voice suddenly calm.

A couple seconds later, Stiles appears in the doorway, looking disheveled, his hair sticking up in odd places and his t-shirt is inside out.

"Holy crap," he says looking at the fallen door, nearly tripping over it as he enters the house. "What the hell happen- oh shit," he says, catching sight of Scott's dad.

"Of course, you're involved in this!" Scott's dad says, sounding almost hysterical and throwing his hands up in the air. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you have at least one working braincell," Stiles says nastily and winces as he turns to Scott and sees the blood all over his shirt. "Dude, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Scott says quickly. "Listen, Malia was attacked too and Lydia and Allison's dad are missing. We have to find them before-"

Scott's phone buzzes and he cuts himself off to look at it.

"It's from your dad!" he says, but then his face falls when he opens it and Allison's blood runs cold.

"What does it say?" Allison demands, walking over to look at it.

_9 pm, Beacon Hills Forest Preserve picnic area. Come alone._

And with it there is a picture of Lydia, her father, and Lydia's mother tied up in a small dark space, their faces bruised and bleeding.

**A/N: I couldn't resist with another cliffhanger, I'm sorry. They're just too much fun! Please review!**


	24. Scott VIII

"...need to take them all out and be done with it," Stiles is saying, pacing up and down Scott's living room frantically. "This has to end."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Allison asks from the couch. Her voice is very quiet and her eyes have the same desperation in them when Jennifer kidnapped her father. "We don't know where they are."

"Couldn't...couldn't we just arrest them all when they show up at 9?" Stiles says in frustration.

"I could-" Scott's father starts, cradling his bruised hand.

"Shut up!" Stiles, Scott, and Allison say at the same time.

It's been nearly half an hour since Scott received the text from the hunters, they still haven't been able to figure out what to do. Scott's mom took the two unconscious hunters to the hospital, with the Sheriff sending deputies to meet her there to make sure they didn't escape. Scott doesn't trust his dad not to call the FBI the second they make him leave, so he's grudgingly allowing him to stay, even though his attempts to be helpful are grating on his already frayed nerves.

"I don't think these are the kind of hunters that would let themselves get arrested," Scott says, rubbing his eyes tiredly. God, this is a disaster. They never managed to find out anything about these people, and going in blind has never ended well for them. "Besides, we don't even know how many of them there are. We need to figure out a way to stop them without using violence or someone is going to get killed."

"Yeah, right," Stiles says bitterly. "Where's Malia, I thought she was supposed to be coming here?"

"She's probably still dealing with the deputies," Allison says, even though she has no way of knowing. They still haven't heard from Isaac yet either. "Scott, we don't know anything about these people," she continues, struggling to keep her mouth from trembling as she speaks. Her eyes seem very bright too, as she looks at him, but he doesn't think she's crying. "If they think we're setting a trap for them they might kill them."

"So I'll go alone," Scott says, frustrated by the lack of viable options and scared that Allison might be right. "I'll distract them, but we have to figure out where they're holding them first."

"Are you kidding me?!" Stiles says, far too loudly, whirling around to look at him incredulously. "Scott, they don't want to negotiate with you, they want to _kill you_!"

"We don't know tha-"

"Yes, we do!" Stiles yells, throwing his hands up wildly. "They're _hunters_. Their livelihood is _murdering_ werewolves, and they want to kill you because they must have figured out you're a True Alpha, so we have to-"

"_Werewolves_?" Scott's father repeats, his eyes bugging out.

"Stop talking," Scott say angrily, turning to glare at him.

His father just stares at him, halfway out the armchair across from Allison on the couch, and something in his expression reminds Scott of the way his mother looked at him when she saw his werewolf face for the first time. He's not sure what it is. His mother had been crying, terrified, and his father is neither of those things, but it's...something. He thinks it's the realization that his son isn't human anymore, is a _thing_.

Scott turns away. It had hurt like hell when his mother backed away from him, fear all over her face, but this doesn't hurt at all. Instead, it's a relief.

He hears footsteps approaching the house from outside, the scent of something metallic on the air, almost like-

"Isaac?" he says, running over to the fallen door to stick his head outside.

Isaac grimaces at him, the entirety of his upper left pant leg soaked in blood, a bullet hole in the fabric of his jeans over his thigh.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks, coming out of the house and looking down at Isaac's leg. "They shot you?"

"In public, right in front of about a hundred people at the pool," Isaac says, looking down at his ruined jeans in disgust. "They are fucking insane, let me tell you, but apparently equally stupid, because the second that bitch shot me, all the people at the pool freaked the fuck out and I got away when they all started running for the exits. Had to ditch my car, though."

"Are you okay?" Scott asks, still concerned about his leg. It looks like a lot of blood.

Isaac blinks up at him and shrugs. "Yeah, it healed up fine."

"Okay, come inside, we're trying to figure out a plan," Scott says, looking around to make sure no one's watching them. He looks back to Isaac when he doesn't move. Isaac is looking up dubiously at Scott's house, the same expression he wore when Scott invited him over a couple days ago.

"Isaac?" Scott says, a little impatiently, and Isaac's face goes blank and walks inside.

"Are you okay?" Allison asks worriedly when they enter the living room, staring at his bloody leg.

"Fine," Isaac says, looking around the room warily. His eyes widen a bit when they fall on Scott's dad and he suddenly looks very, very defensive, like he didn't realize that Scott's parents would be home.

"Who is this?" Scott's dad demands, looking suspiciously at Isaac and Scott feels his hackles rise at his accusingly look. What right does he have to come in here and mess up Scott's life? He's not a part of it anymore.

"None of your business," Scott says shortly, turning back to Allison and Stiles. "We need a plan. Sooner than later."

"We don't have any information," Allison says hollowly, staring down at the broken coffee table in front of her. "I don't see how we can do anything but meet them at 9."

"Stiles?" Scott says, his heart sinking in his chest.

Stiles is texting someone furiously. "Malia," he grunts. "She's still at the Sheriff's Station. I keep telling her to get over here, but she says they won't let her leave."

"You don't think letting the police handle this would be a good idea?" Scott's dad says, getting to his feet and looking at Scott like he's gearing up for a speech that he thinks will result in Scott seeing reason. "Scott, if people really have been kidnapped, then you have to report it. Just let me get my phone and I can make some cal-"

"This is not about you!" Scott says, rounding on him furiously. "You are _not_ a part of this. Don't think you ca-"

"Scott," Allison says warningly and abruptly Scott feels ashamed for getting distracted by his own family problems when her father's life is at stake.

"Getting the police involved will get them killed," Allison says flatly, after Scott manages to turn away from his father. "They aren't equipped to handle this."

"And you are?" Scott's father demands, looking at them like they're all crazy.

"Yes," Allison says simply.

Scott's father just gapes at her, like he didn't actually expect her to say yes.

"Uh, what's going on?" Isaac asks and then slouches a little when they all turn to look at him.

"Lydia, her mother, and Chris got kidnapped by the hunters," Stiles says bitterly, lowering his phone. "They want to meet Scott alone, at 9 in the forest preserve."

Isaac's eyes widen as he turns to Scott. "You can't. They'll kill you."

"We don't know that," Scott says irritably. "And what other option do we have? We have no idea where they're holding them and no way of track-"

He stops mid-sentence and then raises his phone, staring at the picture of Chris, Lydia, and her mother.

"Do you think-" he starts, looking to Stiles automatically and he sees that Stiles gets it immediately by the way his eyes widen.

"Would he do it, though?" Stiles asks, scratching the back of his head absentmindedly.

"He will," Scott says determinedly, because he won't give him a choice.

"What are you talking about?" Allison asks sharply, looking between him and Stiles.

"Danny," Stiles says with a wry grin. "I don't know how we're going to explain it to him, though. He already thinks we're into something weird, and this will really have him asking questions."

"Wait, he doesn't already know?" Isaac says and when Scott turns to give him a strange look, he looks a little confused. "I mean, he definitely knows about me."

"What?" Scott and Stiles say together and Isaac looks rather taken aback. "How?"

"I don't know," Isaac says, shrugging uncomfortably. "I thought you knew."

"How is that possible?" Stiles gapes, staring at Isaac incredulously. "I mean, who just sees a bunch of weird crap and thinks, oh, it must be werewolves?"

"Because you're extremely subtle," Isaac says sarcastically, rolling his eyes at Stiles's reaction.

"Says the guy who just ran here with his pants soaked in-"

"Enough!" Allison says firmly, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest. "No more talking, we need to do something. Now."

"Okay," Scott says, because they've already wasted enough time here talking. "Stiles, you go to Danny's and get him to figure out where this text was sent from. Allison, you go to the Sheriff's Station and see if they've managed to figure out anything there. Try and get Malia out of there if you can. Isaac and I will see if we can catch a scent at Lydia's or Chris's."

Neither Allison nor Stiles look very pleased with his plan, and Scott knows it's a weak one, but they both nod.

"What about him?" Stiles asks, looking dubiously at Scott's father. "Should we tie him up?"

"_Excuse _me?" Scott's father says angrily, and next to him Scott feels Isaac's heart-rate shoot up. "You are not going to _tie me up _and there is no way I'm going to let you leave to get yourselves killed by these maniacs. You need to call the police and let them handle this before someone gets seriously hurt."

"Or knock him out," Stiles says, looking at Scott imploringly. "Please say you'll knock him out."

"I'm not going to knock him o-" Scott starts in frustration and then nearly sighs in relief as he hears his mom's car turning the corner onto their street. "Okay, my mom's back. You," he says, jabbing his finger at his father, "stay here. The rest of you, let's go."

Pretty much the only reason they get out of there is Scott's mother, dragging his father back into the house with promises to explain everything so long as he lets them go. Still, Scott's father does not go quietly and if Scott wasn't so worried about Lydia and Chris, he'd probably be furious at him for making such a scene.

They split up immediately and go their separate ways, Scott taking Isaac on his motorbike. Isaac does not seem comfortable being so close to Scott; Scott has to insist that he hold onto his waist for fear of him falling off when he turns corners, but he doesn't complain, seeming to understand the severity of the situation.

They go to Lydia's house first because it's the closest and sneak under the yellow tape to get to the front door. It's locked, so they go around the back to break in.

"Holy shit," Isaac mutters, when he sees the pool. "She a millionaire or something?"

"Uh, I dunno," Scott says, even though he's pretty sure the house _itself_ costs millions. He remembers the way Isaac had looked up at his house half an hour earlier and wonders if he thought something similar. Scott's house is about average for Beacon Hills, but that doesn't mean that it isn't a struggle to pay the mortgage every month. If it wasn't for the alimony and child support Scott's father pays, they would have been evicted long ago. He's not sure why his mom didn't move them somewhere smaller after the divorce, but he thinks it probably has something to do with her wanting him to have some stability. His mom had spent most of her childhood moving around the country for his grandfather's work and had always resented it, which is probably one of the reasons he doesn't know his grandparents that well.

Isaac punches through the sliding glass door in the back and unlocks it, shaking the blood off his hand without a second thought. Scott follows him into the house and winces at the cordoned off living room, several lamps in pieces on the carpeting and a potted plant knocked over by the front door.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He smells fear, Lydia's shampoo, another flowery smell that is probably her mother's perfume, and something else familiar, like an anim-

"Does she have a dog?" Isaac asks, stepping around a broken lamp and sniffing at the couch a bit.

"Yeah," Scott says absentmindedly, trying to focus on smelling things that don't belong in this house.

"Is it still in the-"

A series of angry yips comes from the dining room and Scott looks up to see Lydia's small black and white dog barreling towards Isaac. It stops right before it crashes into his legs and jumps and down at his feet, growling and barking loudly.

"Okay, c'mere," Isaac says irritatedly and picks up her dog by the scruff of its neck, glaring at it.

"Hey, don't hurt it," Scott says quickly, as the dog continues to struggle in his grasp.

Isaac gives him an unimpressed look. "I'm not going to hurt it."

He growls at it, his eyes glowing gold, and Lydia's dog lets out a terrified whine, ears going flat against its head.

Isaac lets it down and it races off up the stairs, nearly colliding with the wall in its attempt to get away.

"I don't know how you work with animals," Isaac says, looking off after it. "They really hate me."

"They get used to you eventually," Scott says, and then closes his eyes again, trying to concentrate.

"Well, they were definitely here," Isaac says, and Scott snaps his eyes open. He really wishes Isaac would stop talking, because he really needs to focus to weed out the hunter's scents. "Gunpowder, that weird wolfsbane shit, fear, anger, Axe, gas fumes."

"What?" Scott says, staring at the back of his head in surprise. "You can smell all that?"

Isaac turns to look at him, away from the fallen family picture of Lydia and her parents. "Uh...yeah."

Scott inhales again and thinks he can detect the tiniest bit of Axe now that Isaac has brought it up, but he can't smell any of the other things he mentioned. The only werewolves he knows that have a better sense of smell than him are Derek and Malia, who have been werewolves all their lives, so it only made sen-

Isaac's been a werewolf almost three times longer than he has.

"No blood, though?" Scott says. He couldn't see any anywhere, but that didn't mean Lydia or her mother hadn't been injured.

"Not that I can smell," Isaac says, shaking his head.

Scott lets out a relieved breath. "That's...that's good. I was worried they might just shoot first. If they only looked at the police records, they'd think she's a werewolf too after Peter bit her."

"But she's not because she's a...banshee?" Isaac says, looking at him questioningly.

Scott just nods, not interested in explaining what little they know about banshees or the extent of Lydia's powers. "Can you track them?"

Isaac follows the scent out the front door and down the yard, but once he gets to the edge of the road he shakes his head. "They got into a car here," he says, looking apologetically at Scott, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Right, we better go to Allison's then," Scott says, noticing a couple on a walk across the street staring, though at Lydia's cordoned off house or Isaac's bloody leg he isn't sure.

On the way there, Scott forces himself not to panic. There is still two hours before nine o'clock. There is still time to find them.

He positive thinking seems to pay off because right after they arrive at Allison's apartment building, Scott's phone rings.

"Stiles, please tell me you have some good news."

"Yeah, you're not going to believe where that text was sent from," Stiles says, sounding jittery and panicked.

"Stiles, I don't have t-"

"Derek's," Stiles says with an inappropriate laugh. "They sent it from Derek's."

Scott opens his mouth and then closes it, frowning. Isaac is giving him a strange look, but Scott doesn't notice, too thrown by this turn of events.

"Derek's?" he says finally. "But why would the-"

"That hunter _bitch_ must have told them that was a perfect place to have their evil lair," Stiles says furiously. "I knew we should have let Kate kill her!"

"Right, Isaac and I are heading over," Scott says, too distracted to worry about whether or not Araya had really sent the hunters to kill them. Chris had said it was a possibility, but Araya and her people had at least followed the code. It is clear that these hunters don't.

"Stiles, go over to the Sheriff's Station, get Malia, Allison, and your dad, and come back us up," Scott says, putting his helmet back on one-handed. He hangs up without waiting for Stiles's response and walks hurriedly back to his bike parked on the side of the road.

"Derek's?" Isaac asks as he starts up the bike, kicking up the kickstand.

"Old friend," Scott says, jerking his head at him to get him to climb on behind him. "He doesn't live here anymore, but it looks like they're operating out of his place."

"That's good, right?" Isaac asks, tentatively placing his hands on Scott's sides. "You know the layout?"

"Yeah," Scott says gruffly, trying not to think of what kind of disaster they could be walking into and zooms off.

He parks a couple blocks away just to be safe and he and Isaac walk quickly up to the weird post-industrial disaster that is Derek's former apartment building.

"They could already know we're here," Scott mutters as they walk quietly up the stairs. "They could have lookouts, so we may not have the element of surprise anymore."

Isaac nods, looking very pale, and Scott abruptly realizes he didn't even ask if Isaac wanted to come with him. He'd just assumed that because Isaac is a werewolf he would help them out, not remembering that Isaac had very little contact with the supernatural world before moving back to Beacon Hills and that it was very doubtful he'd done anything like this before.

He opens his mouth to say...he doesn't know what, something about Isaac not having to do this, but then Isaac stops in the middle of the stairwell, inhaling a bit.

"This floor," he says, turning back to the stairwell door. "I can smell that same perfume that was in the house."

Scott can't, but he nods, frowning a little because this isn't Derek's floor. Derek's is two floors above them. He focuses his hearing until he makes out two men talking about ammo.

"You hear them?" Isaac asks, opening the stairwell door carefully, and looking out into the hallway warily through the crack, before pulling it open all the way.

"Yeah," Scott says, following him through into the concrete hallway with heavy metal doors along the walls. As they get closer Scott can make out three different voices, still muttering on about plans for later this night. But he can hear eight different heartbeats. Assuming Lydia, Chris, and Lydia's mother are in there, that means there are five of them.

They get to the door and Scott notices that it's in the same place as Derek's apartment, just two floors down. Did they get the wrong number? By the casual way the hunters inside are talking, Scott is pretty sure they don't know they're out here, but they're still outnumbered five-to-two. He jerks his head away from the door, and Isaac follows him a couple steps away so they can talk.

"Okay, I'm guessing that those three heartbeats are Lydia, Chris, and Lydia's mother," Scott says quietly, pointing toward the far left side of the apartment. "From the picture they sent us, I'm guessing they're in a closet or something. I'm going to go in and draw their fire, and you get them out, okay?"

"You're going to go up against five of them _alone_?" Isaac hisses, looking at Scott like he thinks he's crazy. "They carrying semi-automatics, remember?"

"I'll be fine," Scott says, and tries to interject a lot more confidence into his voice than he feels. He'd like to wait for the others to get here, but he doesn't want them to get hurt. Allison, Stiles, and Chris are so fragile, so _human_. And he's not going to lose someone again, he's not. He can't do that again. It's better if he ends this now, before they get here. "Just get them out, okay?"

"No way, you're not going alone," Isaac protests and Scott is a little surprised-and touched-at his vehemence. Isaac looks dismayed at the thought of Scott putting himself in such a dangerous situation, and Scott smiles bracingly at him, clapping him on the shoulder.

"I'll be fine," he stresses. "Now be careful, okay?"

"Me, be careful?" Isaac says incredulously, still looking very uncertain about this plan.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Scott says, frowning a little at his reaction. It isn't as if Isaac isn't taking any risks here either.

Isaac doesn't look like he knows what to say to that, his blue eyes wide and uncertain, but they don't have enough time to talk anymore. Scott walks back to the door and gives Isaac a firm nod. Isaac still looks worried, but he nods back, wrapping both hands around the handle of the large metal sliding door. Scott takes a deep breath and wolfs out, baring his teeth in anger at the people who have decided to take his friends. They will regret that.

He counts to three with clawed fingers and on three, Isaac throws open the metal door.

Scott barrels into the room with a roar, taking in the sight of the five hunters, three men, two women, crowded around a table full of ammunition. Their eyes go wide when they see him, clearly not expecting an attack, but they waste no time in grabbing their weapons.

Scott manages to punch an impossibly buff-looking guy with dirty blond hair in the face, and claws a small Latina woman in the chest, but then an older white guy with crazy Einstein-hair shoots him in the shoulder. Scott roars in pain and ducks his next barrage of bullets, rolling to hide behind a support beam. The layout of the apartment is a bit different than Derek's; it's smaller and there's no balcony, and he can use that to his advantage.

"Son of a bitch!" the red-haired guy with a sawed-off shotgun yells "Lou, Lou, are you alright?"

"Come on out here, you cowardly fuck!" the guy with the Einstein-hair yells, shooting at the support beam.

Scott just makes himself smaller, listening carefully to when they will undoubtedly come at him from the sides. There are three of them left standing and when Isaac comes through the door, Scott is forced back out in to the open to draw their fire. Shit, this really was not a very well-thought out plan, Scott thinks as he takes a bullet in the side. Maybe he should have waited for Malia, or at least stolen some teargas from Chris's supply. He barely manages to dodge a nasty shock from one of those hunters' modified cattle prods wielded by a brown-haired woman only a couple years older than him, who reminds him disturbingly of Allison. Kicking over their table full of weapons, Scott growls furiously and smashes the butt of one of their guns into the red-haired guy's temple and kicking the brown-haired woman in the face. He slams Einstein-hair down onto the ground and growls angrily right into his face.

"Are you done yet?" he snarls, pressing his claws into his chest just enough to make him think twice before trying to sit up.

"Go to hell," he snarls and tries to knee Scott in his injured side. Scott holds him down, but almost bites through his lip trying not to yelp in pain at the strain it puts on his wound.

There's a yell of anger behind him and Scott turns to see Isaac grabbing the blond guy's gun away from him and smashing him over the head with it. Behind him, Chris, Lydia, and Lydia's mother have been freed from the closet, but Chris has been badly beaten and is being held up by Lydia and her mother.

"Isaac, let's go!" Scott yells, slamming Einstein-hair's head down onto the ground and then leaps to his feet, striding past him to grab a barely conscious Chris around the waist and haul him towards the door.

"Go, go!" he shouts at Lydia and her mother and they both run ahead of him, Lydia kicking off her shoes and pushing open the stairwell door so Scott can carry Chris through without having to stop.

"Chris, Chris, stay with me," Scott says, while Lydia's mother grabs his other side as they take the stairs down two at a time. Lydia has a black eye and her mother has a dark bruise on her cheek, but besides that they seem to be unharmed. Chris, on the other hand, looks like he has been beaten within an inch of his life and Scott can tell by his unsteady breathing and slow heartbeat that he needs to go to the hospital immediately. He doesn't respond, just makes a low noise in the back of his throat.

"Are they coming after us?" Lydia's mother says, her voice shaking with fear. Her make-up has run from crying and there are angry red marks on her and Lydia's wrists from rope.

"I don't think so," Lydia says, craning her head to look up the stairs behind them. She seems much calmer than her mother, and God, they'll be lucky if Lydia's mother doesn't send her to Siberia after this.

"They're not," Scott says, taking the brunt of Chris's weight onto his hip as they round a corner, straining his ears, but he can't hear them coming after them. He doesn't think they've even left the apartment.

It's only when they get to the ground floor that Scott realizes Isaac isn't with them.

**A/N: Yes, I know, I'm evil. I just can't help myself! Please review!**


	25. Isaac XII

Everything happens so fast. One second he's watching Scott pulling Allison's father's arm over his shoulder and the next something hits the back of his head so hard he blacks out for a second. He doesn't fall, just sways slightly, right into the barrel of a gun, the hot metal burning the small of his back through his t-shirt. Acting instinctively, Isaac spins around with his claws, and rakes a bloody trail across his attacker's face, the pretty brunette with a long braid. She screams and falls to her knees, bring up her hands to clutch the blood gushing from her face.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Marie!" the the red-haired guy yells, staggering to his feet and running toward her, but before Isaac can take him out too, the horribly familiar feeling of white hot electric pain courses through his body.

He drops to the concrete floor like a stone, writhing against the agony silently, unable even to scream. He sees the old white guy with the crazy hair's face swim above him, and then there are hands on him, on his forearms, dragging him across the floor. Isaac tries to fight, but he can't get his limbs to cooperate.

Where's Scott, he thinks helplessly, but then he hears the metal door open and all thoughts of Scott are erased from his mind.

Isaac only has a split-second of sheer terror as he comprehends what is about to happen to him before he's flung face-first into the dark closet he'd found Scott's friends in. The door slams shut behind him, the voices of the hunters frantic as they try and tend to their wounded, but the only thing Isaac hears is the sound of the metal arm of the lock on the door clicking into place.

Panic grips him and it's this more than anything that galvanizes him into action, fighting his way to his feet to throw himself at the door. The shock keeps him from being able to scream, so Isaac pounds furiously at the closet door to no avail. It doesn't budge, steel-reinforced like everything else in this fucking building, and God, oh, God, this cannot be happening to him. He can't do this again, not again. He can't see much in the near-total darkness, but he can tell that the closet is tiny, only a couple times bigger than a coffin. Or a freezer.

He can't breathe. Blood starts pounding in his ears and the next time Isaac lashes out at the door he does so with claws. They dig into the door, causing small ringlets of metal to fall down onto the floor, but they are unable to do any substantial damage. He claws at the door until his nail break and begins to bleed, gasping for breath, choking on his own fear. He slams his shoulder into the side of the closet when he realizes the door will not yield, and the plaster breaks and crumbles under his body, but it's too late. Isaac only manages to slam his body against the wall two more times before the lack of oxygen causes him to fall to his knees, unable to keep upright any longer. It's dark and small and inescapable, everything Isaac fears the most, and he tries, he really tries-_no, you didn't, you worthless waste of space! I should've drowned you the moment your whore mother squeezed you out_-but he can't get back up again. Isaac sags against the broken wall, tears trickling down his face and tries to focus on getting air into his lungs. But he can't. Everything seems to shift around him, like his sense of balance has been thrown off and all Isaac can do is bury his face in his legs and bat weakly at the wall. Isaac sobs silently, hysterical at the thought of being trapped in here even one more second, so far gone he doesn't even realize that his fingers are bleeding until the place on the wall he's pathetically scratching at become slick with his blood.

Isaac doesn't really remember anything after that.

* * *

When he opens his eyes next he's in another dark room, lying on his stomach on something soft. There's something on him and Isaac struggles to get away, his heart hammering in his chest as he swivels his head around trying to figure out where he is. It turns out they're only sheets and he's in a bed. Someone else's bed; the familiar smell of another person's soap and sweat permeating everything. Isaac panics, sitting up and looking around at the unfamiliar bedroom, posters on the wall, a desk and television in the corner. The alarm clock on the bedside table reads 3:04 am and he lets out a low whimper of horror when he realizes that he's not wearing any clothes. His t-shirt and jeans are gone, leaving him only in his boxers, in someone else's bed and oh, God, what are the hunters going to _do_ to him?

There's a sound of something shifting downstairs and Isaac freezes, his breath going short and shallow. He hears footsteps, the sound of of _someone _walking across wooden floorboards and then starting to climb the stairs. Isaac turns around in the bed, looking for a way to escape and then sees the window behind it. He's reaching out to undo the clasp when he suddenly realizes what the smell in the room is. It's Scott.

He's in Scott's room. The idea is so absurd that he doesn't open the window, just sits there frowning in confusion until he hears the person-Scott?-approaching the door. He turns around just in time to see Scott round the corner.

"Isaac!" he says, coming into the room and walking up to the foot of the bed, looking worried. "Are you okay?"

Isaac scrambles back automatically, almost hitting his back against Scott's window in an attempt to put more space between them. Scott's only in his boxers as well, his hair stuck up in odd places and his eyes bleary, like he'd just woken up too. Isaac wishes he didn't kick the sheets off, so he can cover himself, but they're down at the foot of the bed now where he can't get to them.

"Where's my clothes?" he asks hoarsely, bringing his knees up in front of him. Isaac hates being undressed in front of other people, and he hates being around other people that are undressed. As a child he'd always had to hide the marks his dad left on him and living in a group home had quickly taught him the dangers of undressing in front of other people or being around other boys who were changing. Even now, Isaac avoids the Beacon Hills High locker room and always changes into his Gym uniform in a bathroom stall. It just doesn't feel safe, especially now that he knows that one of his classmates is a faggot.

"Uh, sorry, they had blood on them, so..." Scott says and Isaac barely manages to hold back a flinch when he comes around on his left. He can't really see him that well in the dark; the only light coming from the dim streetlamps bellow, but Isaac feels sick already at the proximity to so much of Scott's bare skin. His eyes are doing the weird cat glow in the dark thing too.

His clothes had blood on them so he had to take them off? While he was _unconscious_? Couldn't Scott have just dumped him on the floor until he woke up? Why did he have to put him in his _bed_? Didn't he see what that looked like?

"Hey, are you okay?" Scott asks, brow furrowing, looking concerned at Isaac's undoubtedly unmistakable panic. "You really had us worried. You went completely into shock back there."

Of course he didn't, Isaac thinks, almost angrily. Scott was just trying to be nice, as usual, with little idea that his kindness could be misconstrued as something far more sinister.

"What...what happened?" Isaac asks, trying not to show his discomfort at how Scott is basically _ standing over him. _The last thing he remembers is the hunters trapping him in the closet. He has to hold back a shudder at the memory.

"I got them out but the hunters grabbed you on the way out," Scott says, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at Isaac's face. Isaac shifts uncomfortably, not wanting to look him in the eye, but not wanting to look at him anywhere else either. He settles for Scott's left eyebrow.

"Isaac, I'm really sorry," Scott says, sounding distraught and Isaac is so surprised that he forgets and looks right into his earnest brown eyes. "It's all my fault. I should've been paying attention when we left, but I didn't realize they'd gotten you until we were almost out of the building."

"Uh, no, it's okay," Isaac says, looking at him strangely. Scott always does this, apologizing for things that aren't his fault. Isaac knows that Scott had to get his friends out, especially Allison's dad, who looked like he'd been run over by a truck. Why is he looking at Isaac like he thinks he should be mad at him? "They alright?"

"Yeah, they're fine," Scott says quickly, looking puzzled. "I mean, Chris is in the hospital, but he'll be okay. Isaac," he says, crouching down at the side of the bed to get on the same level as him and Isaac tries not to cower at the kindness in his eyes. "Isaac, are you sure you're okay? You looked horrible when I found you. You completely went into shock. You've been out for almost eight hours."

"Yeah, ain't no thing," Isaac mutters, dropping his eyes in shame. Humiliation fills him up to the brim as he realizes how pathetic he must have looked in that closet. He'd gone to help Scott get his friends back, to pay him back in some small way for his kindness, but he'd ended up having to get saved instead. God, he is completely worthless, isn't he?

"The Sheriff arrested them all, so you don't have to worry about them anymore, okay?" Scott says gently, putting his hand on the bed beside Isaac's hip and he's far too close. There's too much of him near Isaac, too much skin, and Isaac begins to feel his face heat up, something kicking in his stomach as he raises his head and his eyes catch on the trail of hair that starts at Scott's abdomen and disappears beneath his boxers.

Shit, where are his _clothes_?

"I'd...I better go," Isaac says, turning away from Scott and shifting to the other side of the bed. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't want Scott to see his face right now. "Chantille was expecting me at 10:15, so I-"

"Hey, no," Scott protests, getting to his feet. "Dude, you still look horrible. You need to rest."

"No, I'm fine," Isaac says firmly and starts looking around Scott's room for his clothes. They have to be around here somewhere, don't they? He wouldn't have just thrown them out.

"Isaac," Scott says urgently and puts his hand on Isaac's bare shoulder.

Isaac goes very still, turning to look at Scott slowly. Scott's hand on his shoulder, his face close to his, his knee on the bed as he reaches over to grip him. Isaac looks at him, all of him, and is suddenly afraid that Scott is going to force him down on the bed and...he doesn't know. Something.

Scott must see it in his face, because he lets go of his shoulder immediately.

"Hey, listen," Scott says, backing away from him. "Just relax, okay. Try to get some sleep. I'm just on the couch downstairs. Do you want anything?"

Scott's not going to let him leave, Isaac realizes, a cold dead feeling spreading through his chest. He's traded one dark room for another.

"Do you have water?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, sure," Scott says, heading for the door. "I'll be right back."

When he leaves the room, Isaac lies back down on Scott's pillow and closes his eyes, inhaling his scent. The second he hears Scott walk into the kitchen and turn on the faucet, he undoes the window latch and leaps outside and off the roof. He sprints across the yard and around the corner, into the night. The whole thing takes less than ten seconds.

Isaac runs alongside the road, glad that it's still early enough that there's no one on the roads. It's a little chilly, so it feels good to get his body moving. At least for a couple minutes, until he starts to feel dizzy and has to sit down on the curb to catch his breath. Isaac presses his nose into his shoulder and breathes in. He smells like Scott.

Scott everywhere, on his arms and legs and chest, and God, even on his boxers, which are the ones with the embarrassing hole in the back. Scott's scent is probably even in his hair, and Isaac runs a shaky hand through his curls, trembling with something that isn't the pre-dawn chill.

Because he likes it. Some sick part of him that's never existed before, or he always kept buried deep, likes Scott's smell all over him, likes that Scott put him in his bed. Fuck, it probably even liked earlier, Scott's hand on his bare skin, the idea that Scott might push him back into the pillows and cover his body with his own.

"Fuck," Isaac whispers and squeezes his eyes shut.

This can't be happening to him. He can't be like this. Not after everything.

It isn't fair. All Isaac wanted was to be left alone. It's why he came to Beacon Hills in the first place. He never asked for Scott to be so fucking nice and he certainly didn't ask for this.

Isaac stares miserably down at the pavement beneath his feet, but the cold feeling in his gut won't dissipate. He wraps his arms around his knees and wonders if he's going to be sick. If he could just vomit this feeling away and go back to his life like nothing had ever happened.

Maybe it'll go away, Isaac thinks hopelessly, maybe when he woke up tomorrow morning it would be nothing more than a bad dream. Maybe lightening would strike him right now and put him out of his misery.

Anything would be better than going all faggot for Scott McCall.

Eventually, when he feels like he can stand, Isaac makes his way home. His keys are probably still in the pocket of his bloody jeans, so he has to climb through his parents' window in the back, which takes quite a bit of effort. Isaac just wants to go to bed and possibly take a shower to wash away Scott's scent from his body, but he notices that Chantille's not in Camden's room with Latisha. He goes downstairs to find her asleep on the living room couch, presumably waiting for him. Isaac goes upstairs to pull on some clothes before waking her with a hesitant shake.

"Chantille."

"Mmg-what, Isaac?" Chantille mumbles, rolling over on her back. She blinks up at him blearily. "What time is it? Where were you?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow," Isaac says, shaking her again. "C'mon, don't sleep down here."

Chantille yawns deeply and goes up her bed. Isaac follows her and curls into a ball under his comforter, hoping beyond hope that when he wakes up tomorrow all of this will be nothing more than a bad dream.

It's not of course, and when Isaac wakes up on Sunday morning to sunlight streaming through his blinds, the smell of Scott is all over him and so is the evidence of his utter failure at not being such a fucking loser.

Humiliation at his predicament, at how easily he lost his shit over being thrown in the closet, and at how pathetic he must have looked when they finally dragged him out of there, makes him bury his face under the blankets and stay in bed. Instead of getting up to take a shower and getting some studying done, Isaac wallows in his own misery.

"Isaac," Latisha says after a couple hours, coming into his room and poking at his head under the blankets. "Chantille says you have to get up now."

"Go 'way," Isaac groans, burying his face under his pillow.

"Are you sick?"

"No," Isaac growls, probably a bit louder than he should. "Fuck off."

Latisha leaves the room quickly, her little feet pattering down the hallway and after a minute Chantille rips his door open and stomps over to the side of his bed.

"Boy, you best be sick, because otherwise there ain't no excuse for that attitude with Latisha."

"Fuck. Off." Isaac says angrily through gritted teeth.

"What happened last night?"

"Nothing, I'll tell you later," Isaac groans, his voice muffled in the sheets.

"Tell me now or I'm going to drag your ass out of bed, don't think I won't."

Isaac considers this for a beat and then groans. "Dealt with the hunters last night," he says, hoping that she'll leaves him alone if he tells her.

There is a long pause. He can hear her heartbeat rise a bit.

"They dead?" she says finally.

Isaac scowls, because honestly, who does she think he is, Batman?

"No, police got them," he grunts, curling his fists in the sheets so hard the fitted sheet starts to peel off his mattress.

"So, it's over?"

"Yesss," Isaac groans in frustration. "Now leave me alone!"

"Then why you being a bitch?" Chantille asks, starting to sound annoyed now instead of that weird deadly calm she gets the few times they've discussed the hunters.

"I got shot, _again_, and I'm tired," Isaac says, wishing that he could go back to the good old days where he didn't tell her anything and she didn't ask.

"Are you okay?" she says quickly, sounding freaked, and Isaac immediately regrets mentioning the getting shot part.

"Yes. Fine," Isaac mutters, taking a deep breath of Scott's scent that's already starting to fade from his skin. He can't decide if he's happy or sad about that and his ambivalence pisses him off.

"It was just in the leg," he adds when she doesn't say anything.

"Alright," Chantille says quietly. "Good."

She leaves him alone then, _finally_ and Isaac spends another hour or so feeling sorry for himself before he finally drags himself out of bed and into the shower. He spends half an hour making sure there's none of Scott left on him before he ventures downstairs to make himself some food. It's nearly four in the afternoon and Isaac is just in the middle of checking over Latisha's English homework when he hears the familiar sound of a dirt bike turning onto his street. He goes very still, suddenly remembering in addition to all the horrible things about last night, he had ditched Scott and he was probably going to be pissed.

_Fuck_. He doesn't want to see Scott right now. Or possibly ever again.

"Isaac?" Latisha says from her seat next to him at the kitchen table, noticing that he isn't looking at her homework anymore. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Isaac says, dread filling him as Scott's bike comes to a stop in front of his house and he hears him dismount. "Go upstairs and finish this up yourself now."

"What?" Latisha says, looking rightfully confused. "Why?"

"Now," Isaac growls, trying not to be too loud and hoping that Scott isn't listening in.

"What's wrong?" Chantille says, getting off the couch where she was reading one of her fantasy novels and poking her head into the kitchen.

Isaac just point wordlessly upstairs and Chantille gives him a confused look. He jerks his head in the direction of the door and sees understanding dawning in her eyes.

"Alright, c'mon, baby," Chantille says, taking Latisha by the hand and leading her to the staircase, giving Isaac a pointed look. "It'll just be for a couple minutes."

Isaac listens to them climbing the stairs and go into Camden's room at the same time that Scott walks up his yard to the front door. Isaac wonders what Scott would do if he refused to come out. Would he break down the door, _again_? He hopes not, he's already had to replace that door twice and doors are a lot more expensive than they look.

Scott knocks politely and Isaac forces himself to get up out of his chair and walk across the living room into the hallway to the front door, his limbs feeling like lead. He opens the door, gripping the knob tightly with trepidation and tries to school his face into a casual expression.

"Isaac!" Scott says predictably, looking at him worriedly. "Hey, are you okay?"

He's wearing a red t-shirt that looks way too small for him, but Isaac tries to focus on the bright side. At least he's clothed at all.

"I'm fine," Isaac says with a uncomfortable shrug and tries to avoid looking into Scott's eyes. He's afraid somehow that Scott will be able to tell just by looking at him.

"Dude, I was worried about you," Scott says reproachfully. He doesn't look like he's mad, just worried. It's worse than him being mad. Isaac wishes he would yell, be angry, say something that could let Isaac hate him again, but of course Scott is just concerned for his wellbeing.

"Sorry," Isaac says, even though he's not. "I just wanted to go home."

Scott's expression twists, like he really is angry, but is holding it back, and Isaac is surprised at how much that hurts.

"Don't do that again," he says seriously. "I would have given you a ride if I knew you were just going to bail. My mom said that it's really important to take it easy after something like that."

Oh God, had Scott's mom seen him like that? What about his dad? Isaac knew Scott's parents were divorced, but he wasn't sure exactly what was going on with him last night. He hadn't seemed to know about the whole werewolf thing and Scott seemed really pissed at him. Isaac was surprised, because Scott was usually so mild-mannered. Isaac couldn't imagine talking back to his own father like that.

"I'm really fine," Isaac says, dropping his eyes as he feels himself beginning to blush. God, this is a nightmare. Scott's going to smell it on him and then he's going to punch Isaac in the _face_. Isaac couldn't even blame him if he did. It's no less than what he deserves.

"I'm sorry if I...I don't know, freaked you out last night," Scott says all of the sudden. "I should've been more, I dunno, understanding."

"No!" Isaac says quickly, looking back up into Scott's eyes before he can think better of it. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. I just...I just needed to get back here."

Please stop apologizing, Isaac thinks desperately. It always makes Isaac feel like curling into a little ball until he goes away. Confusion flits across Scott's face and Isaac feels all the color drain from his face as he considers if he's just given himself away. Shit, Scott wouldn't just punch him, he'd probably break his arm.

"Oh, I have your stuff," Scott says suddenly, like it just occurred to him, and pulls Isaac's wallet, cell phone, and keys out of his pocket. Their fingers brush when Isaac reaches out to take them and Isaac bites the inside of his cheek to keep from flinching. "Sorry about your clothes," Scott says, looking apologetic. "They really were a mess."

"No, it's okay," Isaac says and tries very hard not to think about Scott undressing him, his gentle hands all over his bare skin.

"You better call Allison," Scott says, gesturing down at his cheap flip phone. "She was really worried about you. She would've come but she's with Chris at the hospital."

Allison. Isaac's not sure if it would be better or worse if she came. On one hand, Isaac might've felt less nervous being alone with Scott if she was here, but he doesn't want her to find out how much of a freak he apparently is either.

"You really okay?" Scott asks, looking at him with piercing brown eyes. It's almost painful to keep eye contact with him. Like looking into the sun.

"Yeah, I'm good," Isaac says firmly, still gripping the doorknob tightly with his free hand. "Thanks for...you know."

"No problem," Scott says with a bright grin, actually meaning it. "Just take it easy for today, okay? And I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Okay, bye," Isaac says hurriedly, grateful for the reprieve, and when Scott turns around, Isaac shuts the door before he can change his mind.

He closes his eyes and listens to Scott walking back to his bike and when he hears the engine start, Isaac turns around and slumps against the door. He's not disappointed that Scott didn't clap him on the shoulder like he sometimes did, he's _not_.

Fuck, he mouths. Thanks for you know? That's what he went with? He couldn't have sounded more like an ungrateful bastard if he tried.

At least it didn't look like Scott figured it out. There's that. Isaac turns his face to the side of the door and opens his eyes a bit, listening to the sound of Scott riding off. What is he going to do? He liked being friends with Scott, and now this...thing is going to ruin everything.

There's the sound of the floorboards shifting upstairs and Isaac turns his head to see Chantille standing at the top of the stairs behind him, her expression as cold as winter. She heard everything.

Isaac's chest goes cold as he registers the disgust in her eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, anything that will explain this away, but he can't think of anything and shuts his mouth after a few seconds.

"Well, you just full of surprises, ain't you," she says coldly, looking down at him in contempt. "Have to say, never pegged you for a faggot."

Then she turns on her heel and walks back into Camden's room, disappearing from his view, leaving Isaac frozen in the landing, feeling like he might vomit.

They don't speak for the next three days.

**A/N: If you haven't figured it out yet, yes, I enjoy being a horrible person. It's just too much fun! Please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	26. Allison VI

"Allison...Allison?"

Allison jerks awake to someone shaking her shoulder. She blinks and raises her head, wincing at the crick in her neck from sleeping sitting up. She's still in her dad's hospital room and Melissa is standing over her worriedly.

"Allison, you really should go home now," Melissa says, taking her hand off her shoulder. "It's almost ten. Have you eaten anything?"

"No," Allison mutters, looking around Melissa to her dad, still lying unmoving in the hospital bed.

His face is horribly bruised and he's wearing an oxygen mask to help him breathe. He'd been conscious earlier and Allison managed to talk to him a bit, but he'd fallen back asleep after only a couple minutes.

"Can I just stay here?" she asks, sitting up straight in her chair. She knows her dad is out of the woods, but she doesn't want to leave in case he wakes up again.

"You can't stay here," Melissa says gently, rubbing her back soothingly. "Call Scott. You can stay with us tonight."

Allison is so exhausted she doesn't have the energy to fight and just nods, giving her dad one last look as Melissa leads her out of the room. She waits in the waiting room until Scott comes up to the nurses' station, exchanges a few words with his mother and then comes up to her and takes her hand.

"C'mon," Scott says gently, handing her a helmet.

He pulls her up, but Allison doesn't take the helmet. "I...my car's here," she says, rubbing her eyes as he wraps his arm around her waist and leads her to the exit. "I can drive."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Scott says insistently, pushing open the door to the parking lot. "Just come with me, okay?"

Allison nods and puts on Scott's motorbike helmet. She gets on his bike behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, letting her cheek fall against the back of his shoulder. She's so tired, physically and emotionally, and all she wants to do right now is fall into bed and sleep for days.  
Allison barely remembers the ride to Scott's house. All she can think of is how close she came to losing her dad, _again_. It was over, for now, but would it ever really be over? She hadn't realized how radical her decision to change the code was, that she and her father would become the targets of every hunter in North America. Twelve hunters in total had come after them this time and they had barely gotten out alive, but what about next time? Would there be more?

Allison stumbles getting off the bike and Scott grabs her arm to steady her.

"C'mon," he says gently and helps Allison inside and up the stairs.

Allison groans when her head hits Scott's pillow and turns to bury her face in the sheets.

"Allison?" Scott says, talking off her shoes and coming back up to hover over her. "You want to borrow something to wear?"

"No, I'm okay," Allison says, the mere idea of changing into something else making her even more tired. "Scott? Can you...can you stay with me?"

"Of course," Scott says quickly, and gets into bed behind her, looping an arm over her side and stroking her hair out of her face.

Allison sighs and leans back into his chest.

"He was bleeding internally when you brought him in," she whispers, closing her eyes against the sudden urge to cry. "The doctor says it could have been really bad if it had gone on much longer."

"He's going to be fine," Scott soothes, reaching down to lace their fingers together. "I promise. Nothing bad's going to happen to him."

"You can't say things like that," Allison says with a small sob. "What if this was just the beginning? What if more come after us?"

"We'll deal with them then," Scott says and Allison doesn't know how he can remain so positive after everything that's happened.

"Don't worry about that right now, okay," Scott continues, leaning over her to kiss her cheek. "Just try and get some sleep."

Allison takes a shaky breath and nods. She grips his hand tightly and tries to calm down, shut down her mind from imagining scenario upon horrible scenario in which more hunters come after them. Scott strokes her hair soothingly and holds her hand, and slowly Allison begins to relax and drifts away into sleep.

When she wakes it's to Scott's alarm blaring annoyingly. Allison groans and reaches over Scott to turn it off, wincing when she can't find the right button right away.

"Shit," Scott groans, rolling onto his back. "We have to go to school, don't we?"

"Yeah, probably," Allison says blankly, staring at Scott's ceiling. She doesn't want to go. The idea of going to class and preparing for finals while her father lies injured in the hospital is not a pleasant one, but she's already missed so many days already and her father wouldn't want her to skip school to sit by his beside all day.

"C'mon," Scott says, sitting up and stroking the side of her face with his fingers, expression very kind. "We have to go. I need to check on Isaac too."

Isaac! Allison had completely forgotten to ask.

"I thought you went to check on him yesterday afternoon. How was he?" Allison asks, sitting up and attempting to straighten out her wrinkled gray skirt.

Scott grimaces and gets out of bed, grabbing his jeans off the floor and putting them on. "I dunno. He's not the easiest person to read, you know. He said he was fine, but..."

But he'd looked horrible when Allison'd seen Scott pull him out of the closet. He'd been as white as a sheet, eyes open and unseeing as he stared blankly ahead of him and didn't move no matter how much Scott had shaken his shoulders and said his name. His fingers were bloody with the effort to claw himself out of the closet.

"I think, I think I might've freaked him out last night, too," Scott says, jaw clenching and looking around his room for his shirt instead of meeting her eyes. "Well, night before last. I had no idea he was going to just jump out my window like that."

"I'm sure it wasn't your fault," Allison says, trying to get her hair in some order.

"Yeah, I just..." Scott sighs, looking guilty. "I guess I should have taken him home. I just thought it would only worry his roommates and I wanted to make sure he was okay."

Allison looks at him softly as he pulls on his black tanktop and grabs a white button up shirt hanging over his desk chair. It amazes her sometimes how Scott is able to be so kind even in the midst of such dire situations. Allison doesn't have that kind of focus, or as she's beginning to understand, the same innate kindness. Maybe she once did, but that's all over now.

Besides, Isaac is extremely suspicious and wary of people around him. It's not hard to believe that he'd wouldn't take to being put in such a vulnerable position well.

* * *

It's weird going back to school like nothing had even happened. It always is, of course, but this time it feels surreal, like walking into an alternate universe. Stranger still is seeing Lydia come to school with a black eye, having made no attempt to cover it up with make-up. She garners more than a few wide-eyed looks from the other students and teachers, and to Allison's annoyance more than a couple people glare at Scott like they think _he's_ responsible.

Isaac comes to school, but he doesn't spare a glance in their direction during class and he is always the first out of the room. By lunchtime it is obvious that he is avoiding them, and so Allison leaves the rest of her friends at their lunch table discussing how to get Malia's father off a murder charge without it being obvious that the Sheriff is completely corrupt and goes off to look for him.

She finds him the corner of the library, sitting against the wall with his French textbook out in front of him, brow-furrowed as he mouths the words in front of him. Allison sits down next to him and he stiffens, giving her a suspicious look before turning back to his book.

"You okay?" she asks quietly, after he makes no attempt to start a conversation.

"I'm fine," he says tightly, like he's sick of saying it. "How's your dad?"

"Don't change the subject," Allison tells him, looking at his face carefully for signs of trauma.

Isaac scowls and it's only when he shifts away from her that she realizes how close she'd been sitting to him. Their hips had practically been touching and she thinks she sees him blush as he ducks his head down to circle a vocabulary word in his book.

Allison looks at his hunched back and feels a sudden overwhelming urge to run her hand down his spine, to soothe him and press a soft kiss to his neck, and tell him that everything is going to be alright.

She shakes herself a little, trying to get a hold of herself as she realizes exactly where that fantasy was bound to end up. You have a boyfriend, she tells herself, looking away from Isaac to the bookshelf a couple feet in front of them. Get a hold of yourself. She'd clearly embarrassed Isaac too, who prefers to pretend he doesn't have feelings for her. She needs to respect that.

"You can come sit with us, you know," Allison says, looking straight ahead of her at the bookshelf. "You don't have to avoid us."

Isaac doesn't say anything.

"Isaac..."

"Don't," he says warningly, shoulders stiffening. "I just don't want to deal with them right now."

Allison bites back her question if she counts as one of "them."

"Okay," she says simply. "You need any help with that?"

Isaac shakes his head. "Nah, it's just memorizing."

She gets the impression that he just wants to be left alone and reluctantly gets to her feet. She can give him space, if that's what he needs. Isaac's never been comfortable discussing his feelings, even with Chantille.

"Alright," she says, looking down at him as she straightens her skirt. "See you in class."

And before she thinks better of it, Allison pats him on the head and turns on her heel, feeling his eyes burning into her back.

What the hell was that? Allison thinks in utter mortification as she exits the library, feeling her cheeks flush with color. She'd patted him on the head. That was so weird. Her right hand twitches as she recalls the sensory memory of his curls. They'd been coarser than she thought they'd be and Allison remembers that he didn't have conditioner in his shower. Scott's hair is fine and soft, and for some reason she'd expected Isaac's would feel similar. Now that she's got a taste she wants to touch it again, just to make sure. She wants to bury both of her hands in his hair, get a feel of it in her fists. She wonders what it'd feel like trailing down her breasts or brushing against her inner thighs.

Allison stops in the middle of the hallway, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath, trying not to imagine going back to the library, dropping to her knees between his legs, burying both her hands in his curls, and pulling him toward her for a kiss. It would be nice, the simplicity of it, to just kiss him deeply, maybe pin him against the wall and press her chest against is, feeling his arms around her, his hands on her back, long legs tangled in hers. She can imagine the way he'd look up at her, blue eyes half-lidded, obscured by long blond eyelashes. It's nice to think about, even though she knows it can never happen. Too nice.

Stop thinking about it, she tells herself and for the first time since she acknowledged her feelings for Isaac she feels ashamed. What would Scott think if he knew what kind of thoughts she's having about his new friend?

It seems dishonest not to tell him, but Allison doesn't want to think of how Scott would react, his disappointment, even though they both knew Allison would never cheat on him.

"Did you find him?" Scott asks quietly when she sits back down next to him at their lunch table while Stiles babbles on about police procedure and Malia watches on with a little too much interest and Lydia eyes the group of senior boys at the next table over speculatively.

"Yeah, he'll be okay," Allison says, and leans in to kiss Scott on the cheek. "What'd I miss?"

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but I thought we needed a bit of an interlude after the last couple chapters. Also, for some reason, my chapters are shorter in the second half of this fic than the first. Not really sure why, it just...happened? I swear I didn't do it on purpose! Please review!**


	27. Scott IX

It's the seventh time his dad's called in the last fifteen minutes and Scott finally snaps, grabbing his phone off his desk and leaning back in his chair away from his Spanish notes.

"Stop. Calling," he says shortly and then hangs up, tossing his phone back onto the desk in frustration.

Couldn't he take a hint? Scott's been trying to avoid him for months now and even finding out his son is a werewolf hadn't dissuaded Scott's dad from his quest to get Scott to talk to him, or whatever he really wanted. Why couldn't he just leave him alone? Scott has no doubt that his dad personally arranged the creation of the FBI field office in Beacon Hills, so he could presumably leave any time. Stiles is convinced that if the FBI found out about the supernatural all their lives would suddenly turn into the X-Men, and while Scott thinks that's a bit melodramatic, he agrees it's probably best that they leave.

There is a knock on Scott's front door and Scott grits his teeth at the sound of his father's steady heartbeat on the ground floor.

"Scott, I know you're there, your bike is in the driveway," his father shouts after Scott ignores the first knock, forgetting or unaware that Scott can hear him just fine without him raising his voice. "Come on down, we need to talk!"

Screw you, Scott thinks, but doesn't say because he's trying to remain rational about this. It's the kind of thing Stiles would say that always gets him in trouble. It's _definitely_ what Isaac would say.

"Scott!" his dad yells again and Scott groans, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling and reluctantly heads downstairs to open the door. At least his mom took away his key so he can't come in whenever he likes anymore.

"What?" he says flatly, giving his dad an unimpressed look.

"We need to talk," his dad says determinedly, looking cool and impassive in his expensive suit, like he thinks Scott being a werewolf is any of his business anymore.

"I heard you," Scott says coldly, not moving away from the door to let him in. "I can hear a lot of things. Like the faucet dripping in the bathroom sink next door. Like that rabbit across the street chewing its food. Like your heartbeat rising just now."

Scott's dad freezes and Scott is strangely gratified by the look of fear on his face. Good, he thinks viciously. He should know Scott is no longer the small asthmatic boy who cried himself to sleep when he realized his father never really cared about him at all.

He's a werewolf now. An alpha. A True Alpha. He's built himself up from nothing, from just a stupid kid who went looking for a dead body in the woods with his best friend to someone he can be proud of, to someone who can help people, protect them. He didn't do it by himself-he'd be nowhere if not for the support of his friends and his mom-but his father has absolutely nothing to do with that. Scott doesn't need him in his life. When he left, that's what Scott and his mom discovered.

They were better off without him coming stumbling into the house completely wasted every other night, better without his hypocritical complaints about Scott's mom's long shifts at the hospital, and better without his constant demands for Scott to "toughen up," to "be a man."

And if his father thinks that a couple years of radio silence will make Scott forget that then he's an idiot.

"I'm just..." his father starts looking at Scott in apprehension, like he's not sure if he should make a tactical retreat. "I'm just trying to understand all of this. Your mother said this happened to you last year?"

"Yes," Scott says shortly, resisting the urge to slam the door in his father's face. "That it?"

"Scott," his father says, actually having the gall to look exasperated. "Can't we just talk about this? Your mother's told me some of what happened over the last year and I can't imagine how-"

"No, you can't," Scott says, turning his back on him and heading into the kitchen. He'd love more than anything to shut his dad out completely, but his mom always gets pissed when he does that and it's not worth the drama.

"Scott!" his father says, following him into the house predictably. "Can we please just talk about this? I'm trying to be a part of your life, but I can't if-"

"Oh, yeah, _now_ you're trying," Scott says, leaning against the kitchen cabinet and crossing his arms over his chest to glare at him. "What about last year? Or the year before that? You can't just show up here and expect us to take you seriously after ditching us for _years_."

They've had this conversation many times over the last few months, but it feels different now that Scott's dad knows everything. It feels more real.

"I know," Scott's dad says, and he actually dares to look contrite, face lined with regret, and it's infuriating because Scott knows he can't mean it. "Scott, I know I have a lot to make up for, and I'm trying, I really am."

Please, Scott thinks furiously, you never tried before. Why should you start now?

"I don't care," Scott says, feeling his face go hot, and he finds he has to turn away. He hates that his dad can still make him feel like this, like every conversation between them is a war that Scott is only barely managing to survive. Talking to his father shouldn't be more stressful than fighting the supernatural, but it _is_ and Scott dreads every time he shows up for dinner or his mother takes him over to his dad's apartment to "spend time with him."

Scott's father looks hurt, opening his mouth to respond, but then Scott hears his mother's car pull into the driveway.

"Oh, thank _God_," Scott says, pushing off the counter and rolling his eyes at his father's confused expression.

He meets her at the front door and takes the grocery bags out of her hands. "You can deal with him," he tells her and his mom rolls her eyes, kicking off her shoes.

"Hello, Rafe!" she calls resignedly and comes into the kitchen to exchange pleasantries with his dad. Scott's not sure how she manages to do it when all he remembers from his childhood is how much they used to fight, but it's really annoying, especially because one of the things they've seemed to agree on is that his father should be a part of Scott's life.

Scott puts the groceries away without comment, feeling his father's eyes on his back, but manages to escape having further conversation with him by claiming that he needs to study for finals.

He puts on his headphones and listens to loud rock music so he doesn't have to listen to his mother reassure his father that he'll come around eventually and stares down at his Spanish notes without any motivation at all to actually read them.

Eventually, the sky darkens and Scott starts to get hungry, but he doesn't dare leave his room. It's not worth seeing the pathetically hopeful look on his father's face when he thinks Scott might actually talk to him.

Around eight his mother knocks on his door and Scott pushes down his headphones, bracing himself for her to say that his dad is staying for dinner.

"He's gone," she says, leaning against his doorframe. "So you can come down now."

She's not lying to him, but he checks anyway that there's no one else in the house.

"Scott," she says, looking at him sadly. "I know you don't want to hear this, but-"

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Scott says brusquely, swiveling his chair back to face his desk.

"No, we need to talk about this right now," his mother says firmly and Scott grits his teeth. "I know you don't want anything to do with him, but he's been here eight months now. His job is here. He's not going anywhere anytime soon and it's all because he wants to be a part of your life again."

Eight months? Had it really been that long? It didn't seem like it. Probably because eight months is nothing compared to Scott's childhood and he'd left in the middle of that without any warning. What is to say he wouldn't do it again?

"So, what?" Scott says, glaring down at his Spanish notes. "You want me to just pretend the last couple years didn't happen?"

He can't believe his mother of all people keeps trying to get him to reconcile with his father. Her own troubled relationship with the man aside, she doesn't have a good relationship with her parents either. As far as Scott knows, his mother hasn't spoken to her father in years and she speaks to her mother once a month, phone conversations that mostly consist of his grandmother ranting at his mother in Spanish, which his grandparents purposefully did not teach her and of which she understands very little.

"No, I want you to give him a second chance," his mother says calmly and Scott has no choice to look back at her placid expression, the way her curly hair falls against the door frame. "I know you're angry with him. I know you don't trust him. That's okay; I don't either."

Scott raises his eyebrows at this. His mom always acted so blasé about his father's return. It's kind of nice to hear that he isn't the only one who's holding a grudge.

"But he's your father," his mom continues, looking at Scott a little sadly, for no reason that Scott can fathom. "And that means something. That means that you have to give him a second chance."

Scott grits his teeth and drops his eyes down to the floor, unwilling to look his mother in the eye.

"I don't want to," he admits, forcing the words out of his mouth even though he wants nothing more than to jump out the window and not have this conversation, _ever_. "I can't trust him."

"I know," his mom says, not sounding upset about it. "But you can spend time with him. It's all he wants right now. The rest...we'll see."

"A second chance," Scott says distastefully, raising his eyes finally to hers. "You know Stiles is worried that he's going to tell the FBI about us and we're all going to end up in a government lab."

"Don't worry, I have already assured your father that no one will believe him if he starts telling people his son is a werewolf," his mother responds with a grin. At Scott's surprised look, she continues: "What, he wanted to help. Since they have a field office here now. But don't worry, I persuaded him that that would be a disaster."

It really would, Scott thinks, a little unsure what to think of his father being interested in..._helping_. He's thought about asking Allison for her advice on how to deal with his father, as she's the person he knows with the most experience clashing with their parents, but he decided against it because their circumstances were so different. Chris hated Scott, stuck a gun in his face and threatened to kill him if he didn't stop seeing Allison because he, however misguidedly, cared for her safety. Caring was never really in Scott's father's purview.

Scott doesn't want to see more of his father. He doesn't want to rethink his current stance that he's a deadbeat asshole, because it just hurts too much to go over old wounds. He wants his father to stay in the past, where he belongs. He doesn't want to think that his father has changed, because thinking that, getting his hopes up only to be disappointed when he takes off again...Scott doesn't think he can do that again.

But...his mother's right. Scott's father does seem to have rearranged his entire life to try and reconcile with Scott and eight months is a long time to try and fail at something without giving up. Scott can't lie to himself and pretend she doesn't have a point about second chances. Scott's a big believer in second chances, always has been. Now he needs to put his money where his mouth is.

And as much as Scott hates to think it, it is undeniable that his father reacted a lot better to the revelation that Scott was a werewolf than his mother did.

"I'll...I'll try," he acquiesces reluctantly, and can't help but smile when his mother beams at him, the smile she gets when she's proud of him. He's never been able to resist that smile.

"Just do your best," she says, coming over to kiss him on the forehead, squeezing his shoulder. "It's all you can do right now. Don't worry about the rest until later."

Scott nods and sighs, looking back down at his Spanish notes.

"I'm going to heat something up for dinner, okay?" his mother says cheerfully and exits his room, leaving Scott alone with his unease.

Thankfully his mother doesn't immediately call his father and tell him that Scott's agreed to try and be less hostile, so he doesn't show up the next morning to drive him to school or any of the other awkward ways he's tried to get Scott to talk to him over the past few months. In fact by the encouraging smile his mother gives him over breakfast the next morning, he thinks she's trying to ease him into the whole idea and her concern makes him feel a little self-conscious. He doesn't want to think that she's somehow gotten the idea that Scott is the one who is awkward and uncertain about this whole reconciliation thing. Scott doesn't care one way or another; it's his father that is desperate to get in Scott's good graces again.

Scott gets to school a little early and brightens when he sees Isaac, Allison, and Malia sitting at one of the outside tables. Isaac and Allison are bent over a textbook, little surprise considering how far behind they are, and Malia is looking wistfully off in the direction of the forest behind the lacrosse field.

"Hey," he says, sitting down next to Malia, across from Isaac and he makes sure to smile warmly at him. He's been subdued since the hunters' attack and Scott's a little worried about him.

"Hi," Isaac grunts, his eyes darting away from Scott's and fixing themselves to the book in front of him. He's wearing a sky blue polo, Scott realizes, the first time Scott's seen him wearing anything but his thin white t-shirts.

"Nice shirt," Scott says, peering over at his book. "What are you working on?"

Isaac glances up at Scott, looking very much taken aback at the comment about his shirt. He has an almost suspicious look on his face, like he thinks Scott might be making fun of him.

"Geometry," Allison says, her pen hanging out of her mouth as she taps her fingers against the table top. She makes a very attractive picture, absorbed in studying, and Scott entertains a brief fantasy of how good she'd look in librarian glasses and a pencil skirt.

"Ugh, good luck," Scott says, remembering how he'd failed Geometry sophomore year and had to retake it over the summer. "Stiles and Lydia here yet?"

"Lydia went to powder her nose or something," Malia says, yawning and shaking herself awake like a dog.

"She went to go talk to Mr. Patel about some problem on her AP Calc test," Allison says, rolling her eyes at Malia, while Isaac ducks his head down and smirks.

"I thought she took that weeks ago," Scott says, checking his watch. There's no point in pulling out his own notes; the bell's just about to ring. "Stiles not here yet?"

Stiles is usually on time, or he doesn't come at all and Scott's hopes it isn't the latter today. It usually means the Sheriff hasn't been able to drag Stiles out of bed. Stiles has had a lot of absent days this semester and his grades have dropped significantly. Scott doubts he'll fail, but his absences are a symptom of his fragile mental state. Stiles hadn't been anywhere near the hunters this time around, but Scott is never quite sure what will set him off.

"No," Malia says, sounding displeased about this fact. Scott's pretty sure that if she had her way she would sleep on Stiles's floor every other night to make sure that he was talking care of himself. Scott's not exactly sure when, but somewhere along the last couple months Malia decided that Stiles belonged to her, in a weirdly non-sexual way. At first Scott was a little affronted at what he saw as her blatant attempts to steal his best friend, but eventually he was just glad for another ally in the ongoing battle against Stiles's depression.

Scott takes a deep breath and tries not to worry, scanning the parking lot for a familiar blue jeep. Allison catches his eye and gives him a questioning look, but he just shrugs. He'd told Allison that Stiles had been having problems ever since his possession by the nogitsune, but he hadn't told her any of the details. It felt like betraying Stiles's trust and Scott already feels bad enough about telling the Sheriff about Stiles flushing his Adderall.

He sees Stiles's jeep skid into the parking lot just as the first bell rings and Scott sighs in relief as Stiles pulls into one of the back parking spaces and gets out of his car, looking rushed and sleep-deprived, but more or less in good shape.

"Dude, cutting it bit close there," Scott says, with more enthusiasm than is probably warranted, throwing an arm over Stiles's shoulder when he walks up to their table, dodging around the crowd of students heading into the building.

"Yeah, I just overslept," Stiles says quickly, as transparent in his attempt to pacify Scott's worries as Scott is that he has them even over the inconsequential manner of what time Stiles comes to school. "Stayed up late working on that Econ wor-Holy crap, is Isaac actually wearing color? When did that happen? Did paint fall on you?"

"Fuck off," Isaac says, glaring at Stiles nastily as he gets up and stuffs his Geometry book in his raggedy backpack. Sometimes it seems like everything he owns is falling apart. Scott had felt bad throwing away his bloody jeans, because he's pretty sure Isaac has been switching off between the only other two pairs he owns, one of which has long tear on the bottom.

"Oh, that's original," Stiles retorts, rolling his eyes expressively. "Never heard that one before."

"Alright, that's enough," Scott says when Isaac opens his mouth to fire back, annoyed at Stiles for trying to distract them from his problems by insulting Isaac and at Isaac for being easily drawn into a fight. "C'mon, we got class."

Stiles glares at Isaac with far more vehemence than is warranted considering that _he_ started it, but Isaac just rolls his eyes and splits off ahead of them to enter the school building without a second glance. Scott watches him go, bemused at his anti-social tendencies, because they're all going to the same class now.

He's been distant ever since the hunters. Sometimes Scott feels like he's trying to avoid him, even though that doesn't make any sense.

**A/N: Ugh, I don't know how I feel about this chapter. I was trying to compromise between Scott forgiving his father completely and hating his guts forever and I don't know how it turned out. I disagree with Melissa that Scott owes his father a second chance, but at the same time, I do think Scott is ultimately a forgiving person, even with his father, who of all the villains in Teen Wolf is the person we've seen Scott resent the most (as of 3b. Not really sure what was going on in season four and I don't really care because that season was a disaster.) So, I tried. Please review!**


	28. Isaac XIII

Isaac is definitely trying to avoid Scott. He feels kind of bad about it because he thinks Scott thinks he's traumatized by being shut in a closet by the hunters (like that's never happened before) but it beats Scott finding out how much of a sick pervert he is and kicking his ass.

It's better this way anyway. It was hard to talk to Scott before, but now every time Scott smiles at him Isaac thinks his heart is going to leap of out his chest. Looking him in the eye makes Isaac blush, so Isaac invariably ends up avoiding his gaze, which he knows comes off as incredibly rude. His dad always thought so too. He'd once thrown a pot at his head and kicked him in the stomach when he tried to get away saying _look me in the eye when I'm talking to you, boy, or I'll break your fingers_. Isaac had, shaking with fear, but he'd broke two of his fingers anyway, heedless of Isaac's screams for mercy.

Isaac's never been good at hiding his feelings and he knows the longer he spends around Scott, the more likely he'll give himself away. It'll be all over his face. Scott's nice and like everyone else at this school he doesn't seem to have a problem with Danny, but Isaac knows it's different when a guy is interested in you personally. If _he_ was Scott, he would be disgusted that some creepy guy was into him. Scott might not punch him, but he would hate him, probably never talk to him again. And the thing about crushing on people is that you care what they think of you and Isaac would rather avoid Scott forever than see the disgusted look on Scott's face.

It has to go away eventually, he tells himself. Or maybe it'd just fade into the background, like what he feels for Allison. It's easier, with her. They were friends first, so Isaac doesn't feel as nervous around her as he does Scott. She's always been Scott's girl, anyway, and Isaac can't think of anything more off-limits.

Scott isn't like that, and that's what makes him so dangerous. Even though Isaac knows logically that Scott is normal and is just being friendly, his kindness and concern for Isaac make him feel...make him feel like he's special. It's bullshit, he knows, but he can't help it.

Isaac doesn't know what's wrong with him. He knew he was fucked up, but he didn't know that extended to wanting _two people at the same time_, one of whom was a _guy_. It seems like just when he didn't have to hide the fact that he was a werewolf, he got a new secret, another one that he can't let anyone know about for fear of persecution.

It's hard, the first day, because Scott is suddenly everywhere, smiling, and being friendly, asking him if he wants to hang out after school. Allison is also puzzled at his sudden reticence after spending the last couple weeks with them and he has to dodge her questions about his behavior as well. But Isaac knows he can do it. Aside from the first two weeks of being a werewolf and the power rush that came with it, Isaac has always kept his head down and done what he was supposed to do. After his first full moon, after the reality of what being a werewolf really meant set in, Isaac did everything he could to protect other people from him and protect himself from discovery. He stayed out of fights, even when he knew he could have stopped them. He got out of the system by himself and came to Beacon Hills without any expectation of friends. He can deal with Scott McCall.

He still feels like he needs some sort of advice though. He's never crushed on a guy before. (Noah Douglas in seventh grade and Alonso Pineda freshman year of high school _do not count_. He just thought they were cool.) There's no one he can ask, though. Chantille still won't talk to him, much to Latisha's worried confusion, and Isaac doesn't trust the internet even if he wasn't embarrassed enough to use the library computers to find answers. The only person he knows of that likes guys too is Danny.

Obviously, Isaac's not going to talk to him. (What if he got the wrong idea, _ugh_.) But he can observe him at school and see how he carries it.

It's not really that helpful. Despite being a faggot, Danny seems like a pretty ordinary guy. Aside from his...boyfriend?, most of his friends seem to be straight guys. Isaac's not too sure how that works, but all he can tell is where he likes to stick his dick seems to be a non-issue. The only interesting thing he notices is that while changing in the locker room, Danny keeps his eyes strictly away from his undressed classmates. Isaac's not sure why that makes him feel better, but it does to see that a guy so seemingly perfect understands as well as Isaac the danger of being different and how fast their peers can turn on them.

Mostly though, Isaac is miserable. He hates himself for being such a freak, for having to rebuff Scott's innocent gestures of friendship like an ungrateful jerk for his own self-preservation. He hates that he let Chantille find out, that she knows, and is disgusted with him. He has a horrible feeling that she would leave if she could. The worst is he can't stop thinking about Scott. His smile, his warm brown eyes, how earnest he was when he said "I don't want you to get hurt." It's sick and pathetic, Isaac knows, and he tries to shut it out, with mixed success.

For three days he avoids eye contact with Scott, keeps his head down and studies with Allison, giving her vague answers to her questions about his odd behavior that he's pretty sure she doesn't believe. At home he keeps his distance from Chantille and by association, Latisha, except to drive her to and from school. He's not sure Chantille wants him around her little sister anymore, and as much as that hurts Isaac guesses he can understand.

Finally, though, something has to give, and surprisingly it's not Isaac. It's Chantille.

Isaac comes home after work on Wednesday night to find Chantille waiting for him at the kitchen table. Not sure what to expect, Isaac automatically turns away, figuring it would probably be best that he did his homework upstairs.

"Isaac, don't," Chantille says quietly, putting her book down, and he freezes in the doorway, dreading the conversation ahead. Had she found somewhere else to live?

He turns around, steeling himself for her judgment but she doesn't say anything, just looks at him with something like suspicion in her eyes. His chest hurts and Isaac wonders if this is where the word "heartbreak" comes from.

"So," she says finally, crossing her arms over her low-cut red shirt, her voice harsh. "He into you?"

Isaac stares and then grimaces at the idea. "What? No. He's not...he has a girlfriend."

"Allison," Chantille says distastefully. "Jesus, you can't do anything normally, can you?"

Isaac says nothing, even though his chest gives another aching pang at her words.

"You're not going to tell him, are you?" Chantille asks next, eyeing him carefully.

"What?" Isaac says, even more bewildered. "Fuck no, I'm not crazy."

Chantille's shoulders seem to relax at this, though her closed expression doesn't change. "Good," she says firmly and then pauses before continuing a fraction more uncertainly. "He...he stronger than you, right? When you got arrested, he threw you over the police car like you weighed nothing."

"Uh, yeah..." Isaac says and then realizes that Chantille is afraid that Scott might hurt him. The weight in his chest lightens a little at the knowledge that Chantille still cares for him. "I'm not...I'm staying away from him," he adds, hoping that will reassure her. He knows he should tell her that it's doubtful Scott would react violently toward him if he found out about his crush (probably, anyway) but he's just so relieved that she's worrying over him that he doesn't want to ruin it.

"Good," Chantille says again, shoulders relaxing a bit further.

There is an awkward pause as she gives him a searching look, jaw clenched in anger. Isaac feels sick to his stomach at the obvious signs she's unhappy with him, even though she's holding it back. He wants to say something, something that will fix it, but he can't think of anything that can repair this damage.

"I suppose you can't just...not?" she asks bitterly, eyes narrowed, fingers clenching her arms tightly. "Just stop?"

Isaac opens his mouth to tell her he can, he will, he'll be normal, but the words stick in his throat. Because he's pretty sure that's not how it works, and he doesn't want to lie to her. He closes his mouth after a couple seconds, looking away in shame.

"Shit," Chantille says, and when he gathers the courage to look back up at her, she doesn't look surprised. She doesn't look angry, either, though, just sad. "Just, fuck, don't do anything stupid, you feel me? The last thing we need is...Isaac, if he finds out-"

"Yeah, I know," Isaac says hoarsely, pathetically grateful that she seems more worried about the consequences of his crush on Scott than disgusted at his faggotry. "He won't. I promise. I'm staying away from him. "

Chantille nods firmly and her then expression clears. "You want something to eat?" she says, getting to her feet. "I brought hamburgers from work, I can heat them up for you."

It's not okay, not exactly, but Chantille seems determined to work around his feelings for Scott as if they were just another obstacle in their lives that they've overcome. Her confidence helps him believe that it isn't the end of the world and that he can get through this. Isaac is so relieved he could cry, does later, when he's alone in his room.

* * *

Isaac wakes up the next morning feeling optimistic and refreshed. There's only a week and a half left of school and he can stick it out until then. Scott will be too busy with finals to try and be friends with him anyway. Then summer will start and Isaac plans to get another part time job during the day. It will be a perfect excuse not to hang out with any of them.

He gets in the shower, still half asleep and is soaping down his body, avoiding his erection as usual, when he realizes...he doesn't have to. Isaac blinks and stares down at his dick, almost unbelieving of how long it's taken him to realize that, technically, he should be able to jerk off now. It's been three weeks since he's mostly gotten control of his powers, though before the hunters showed up he and Scott had been practicing every once and a while so he wouldn't have to worry about the full moon.

Isaac bites his lip and stares down at his half-hard dick. It has been _three years _since he last could jerk off. Should he...?

He snakes his right hand down to wrap around his dick and lets out an involuntary gasp at the pleasure that pools in his abdomen just at that simple touch. God, he's sensitive. It wouldn't take very long at all.

He hardens completely in his hand and Isaac stifles a groan at the thought of finally being able to get off after so long of denying himself.

But...

But he knows what he'll think of. Or who, really. He'll think of Allison's pert tits and hard nipples, the way she probably looked in this very shower, water running down her pale skin, causing her hair to stick to her shoulders. He hadn't really been looking at Allison's naked body when they'd met, but that doesn't means he doesn't remember any details at all. He'll think of her dark eyes that always draw him in and never let him go, the quirk of her pretty mouth. And worse, he'll think of Scott's hand instead of his own, his bright, kind smile that literally makes Isaac weak in the knees. He'd thought it was just an expression before.

Isaac quickly lets go of his dick and scrambles for the shower handle to turn the water to cold. He can't. It's just not a good idea. Sure, it was hell not being able to get off when he first turned into a werewolf, but he got used to it, didn't he? It's only annoying every once and a while now. His sex-drive is practically nonexistent now and Isaac is afraid that if he starts jerking off again it'll go back to the way it was when he was fourteen and he _can not do that _when he wants two people at the same time, both of whom he has to interact with. He can't jerk off to people he's friends with; he's pretty sure that crosses a line somewhere.

It's better this way, anyway. Isaac doesn't know how many more changes to the status quo he can take.

* * *

Isaac mostly manages to keep his head down, speaking to Scott and his friends in short, curt sentences and eating lunch alone behind the bleachers. Allison is clearly not happy with him, but he tells himself it's better that she thinks he's still having issues from being shut in a closet by hunters than she finds out he has a gay crush on her boyfriend. It's not completely a lie anyway. Isaac's had to sleep with the light on in his room all week to prevent himself from waking up trying to claw himself out of the freezer.

He manages to last until after Gym. He's just leaving the bathroom stall after changing out of his gym uniform back into his regular clothes when Scott calls out "Isaac!" from behind him.

Isaac turns around to come face to face with a naked, towel-clad, dripping wet Scott McCall.

Why did he take a shower? Isaac thinks inanely, before his entire face flushes horribly at the realization of just how fucked he is right now.

"Hey," Scott says friendlily, oblivious to Isaac's embarrassment. He wipes water off of his forehead while Isaac tries not to blatantly stare at his bare, muscled chest. "You free this afternoon? Malia and I were going to go practice in the woods."

"Uh, sure," Isaac says without thinking. God, Scott's skin is so smooth and brown. Unlike Isaac, who's skin turns blotchy and pink after a shower, Scott's chest remains even-colored. His nipples are brown too. Isaac kind of wants to lick them. He can't believe he ever thought Scott was out of Allison's league.

Stop staring at him, he tells himself, feeling his chest twist in hot shame at the realization that _he's_ become the creepy faggot in the locker room.

"Okay, cool," Scott says with a pleased grin that makes Isaac's stomach flip. He's holding the towel up with one hand, like it's not weird at all that they're having this conversation while he's all...naked. "Meet you out front?"

"Okay," Isaac says, and then has to flee to French class before Scott starts changing.

Standing outside the door of his French class waiting for the bell to ring, his heart pounding in his chest, Isaac realizes that this is going to be a lot harder than he thought.

**A/N: So this chapter was depressing. But then it got better? As always, interested in your feedback, so leave me a review!**


	29. Allison VII

Allison sits in her father's study nervously, trying not to let on how apprehensive she feels. Her dad never calls her in to his study "to talk" unless it's actually something important and Allison is pretty sure it has to do with the hunters.

"What's going on?" she finally says, trying to sound casual. "Because I was going to hang out with Lydia later..."

"Everything's fine," her dad says, wincing as he leans over to put a manila folder on a stack of paper on the far side of his desk. Allison seals her lips shut to avoid commenting. He still looks horrible, his face is bruised and he walks with a limp. It's only been a week since their confrontation with the hunters and Allison is uncomfortable with how soon afterward he checked himself out of the hospital.

"Just some complications with how the hunters are being charged," her dad says, glancing up at her for a moment before looking back down at the papers on his desk to reorganize them. "They have a lot of money behind them and their lawyers look like they're going to cause all kind of trouble. I'm not sure the local superior court can handle another legal battle like last time."

"Isn't one of the judges a friend of the Sheriff's?" Allison asks. She doesn't know much about the aftermath of their last clash with other hunters, but she'd assumed it had gone smoothly because they were all in prison as far as she knew.

"Yes, but they might be trying to take the case federal," her dad says, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "It's a long-shot, but it suggests..."

"They have pull outside California," Allison says, closing her eyes, imagining a nightmare scenario in which the hunters are allowed to walk free. "Even in federal court, do you really think they could get off? I mean, they were caught in the act by the Sheriff and at least five other deputies."

"It's not a matter of getting off, it's how many years they get," Allison's dad explains, and she has to admit that's a good point. "If they have influence in federal court they could be out again in a couple years. Less, if we're particularly unlucky."

Allison nods and then looks at her father's face carefully as he jots something down in the margins of a company memo. "Do you know them?"

"They're Martin Norman's people," her father says, his face twisting is disgust. "We'd never met before, but I'd heard of him. He doesn't follow the code."

Obviously, Allison thinks, shivering as the sounds of Isaac's screams echo in her head.

"Which one was he?"

"White bushy hair."

"So, they're not working with Araya?" Allison asks, confused about the inner workings of the hunter world. She'd never really asked back when she first found out about her family's history, still too upset and betrayed by her family's role in it to ask broader questions.

"I doubt it, but I wouldn't be surprised if she gave them information, even a small hint to point them in the right direction," Allison's father says, looking very tired. Allison wishes he would take it easy, but he refuses to listen to her and gets irate when she suggests he rest.

"Why would she do that?" Allison asks, frowning. "If they don't follow the code."

"Revenge," her dad says simply, as if that explains everything.

And it kind of does, with hunters.

"We can't let this case go federal," her dad warns, giving her a very serious look with his piercing blue eyes. "The Sheriff's sources say that their lawyers are hammering the state's attorney hard to get him to give up the case. That means they're probably trying to get the U.S. Attorney to accept it, so we may need Scott's dad to step in."

"Scott's going to love that," Allison says, wincing already as she imagines the appalled look on Scott's face if they need to ask his dad for help.

"Their case for it is pretty weak, but we don't want to take any chances," her dad says, grimacing as he reaches down to open the bottom file cabinet. "If they make any progress with the state's attorney, Scott's father might know someone who knows someone who can lean on the U.S. Attorney to reject the case."

"I'll talk to him," Allison says.

"Hopefully it won't come to that," her father says with a weary exhale, finally sitting down in his seat on the other side of the desk. "But we have to be prepared for anything."

"Alright," Allison says, getting up from her seat, but then pauses before she makes to leave the room. "Will we need to testify?" she asks, suddenly imagining the dangerous visibility that would result in for her supernatural friends. And worse, her and her father. They'd have every hunter in the Western Hemisphere gunning for them, regardless of whether they followed the code or not.

"We didn't have to last time," her father replies approvingly, like he's proud of her for thinking of it. "We just gave statements to the Sheriff. But who knows what could happen if the case goes federal."

"Alright," Allison says, firmly and then checks her phone. "I'm going to go out with Lydia for a bit, but I should be back before midnight."

"Eleven," her dad says with a scowl. "And no last-minute sleepovers either."

He's not talking about her sleeping over at Lydia's and Allison rolls her eyes as she leaves the room and goes to get her purse. She hadn't been planning on going to Scott's tonight because his mother didn't have a night shift, but he should know better than try to keep her away from Scott. It never works.

Scott is hanging out with Malia and Isaac anyway, having finally managed to get the latter to talk to him again. He'd been a little hurt that Isaac had been ignoring him all week, for no reason that he could see. Allison has her own suspicions about Isaac's sudden reluctance to be around Scott, but she wants more time to observe their interactions before she makes any conclusions.

_Leaving now!_ She texts Lydia as she gets into the elevator. _Where do you want to meet?_

She hopes Lydia doesn't want to go shopping again; if Lydia tries to drag her into another shoe store then Allison's going to ditch.

_My house. _Lydia texts back as she's walking through the parking garage to her car.

Allison frowns down at the text. Lydia's house? Did she mean her dad's house? Allison hasn't been to Lydia's house once since she came back to life because of her mother's attitude toward the supernatural and she can't imagine she's eased her stance since getting kidnapped by hunters. But Lydia only went to her dad's house on weekends-what would she be doing there on a Thursday night?

Allison heads over to Lydia's house with trepidation, parking on the side of the road out front and looking up the grand lawn at the mansion dubiously. Allison was used to being the rich kid, but she was nothing compared to Lydia and she didn't even know what her father did. He was probably some high-up exec at one of the two tech companies that half the town worked for.

_Here! _She texts.

_Come inside_, Lydia replies almost immediately and Allison stares.

_I want to get this over with_, Lydia says before she can text back.

Is her mother there? Why would she want Allison to come inside?

Maybe...maybe this is Lydia's way of finally asking for help with her mother. And if it is there's no way Allison can say no.

Allison gets out of her car and walks up the lawn, knocking on Lydia's door probably more loudly than is strictly necessary and trying to shove down the feeling that this is some sort of trap.

Lydia opens it almost immediately. "Hi, Allison," she says cheerfully, but there's something like relief in her eyes that makes Allison steel herself for the inevitable confrontation with Lydia's mother.

And sure enough Lydia leads Allison around the corner into the living room, where Lydia's mother is sitting on the mint green sofa, her arms folded uncomfortably over her chest.

"So," Lydia's mother says, eyeing Allison like she might leap over the coffee table and attack her at any moment. "Lydia tells me you're here to explain why her continued association with you and your friends is necessary for her survival."

"Oh," Allison says.

She looks at Lydia, who gives her an urgent look in response.

"Okay," Allison says, still feeling slightly off-guard by Ms. Martin's cool demeanor. She looks like an angry librarian in her white blouse and gray pencil skirt, though a librarian probably wouldn't be wearing those forest green four inch heels. Allison guesses it runs in the family. "I'll just..."

She sits down in the arm chair across from Lydia's mother, wishing that Lydia had given her more of a head's up. Or asked Scott to come too. He'd be better at this.

"Did I say you could sit down?" Lydia's mother snaps and for a second Allison freezes, the parallels between her and her own mother overwhelming her.

"Mom!" Lydia says sharply, glaring at her. "That's enough."

"There will always be people after your daughter," Allison says coldly, perhaps a little too coldly, but she has never reacted well to disrespect. "She's safer with us. We can protect her."

"Protect her?!" Ms. Martin says furiously, her face flushing with anger. "By my count she has died almost ten times in the last year and a half, from her involvement with you. And I'm sorry, but you couldn't even protect yourself!"

Allison grits her teeth against the urge to scream something cruel in return. Of course she would use her death against her. It is Lydia's mother's worst fear for her daughter.

"Her involvement with us has nothing to do with it," Allison replies calmly, even though that isn't completely true. "Lydia will always be in danger because of what she is."

"It's true, Mom," Lydia says firmly, sitting down on the couch as well, not exactly next to her, but near her. "I'm involved. I'm never not going to be involved."

It's a bit of an exaggeration. They're pretty sure the hunters had no idea that Lydia isn't human and even if they did, according to her dad, hunters only rarely come across banshee and have no grudge against them as far as he knows.

Lydia's mother's face falls and Allison feels a twinge of pity for her, even though she has to do this, that this is what Lydia wants.

"When...when is this going to end?" Lydia's mother asks pleadingly, her eyes filling with tears. "How many more times is this going to happen?"

"The hunters have been arres-"

"I'm not talking about that!" Lydia's mother says loudly, shooting up to her feet. "I'm talking about the "animal attacks" and serial murders. I'm talking about the night shift at the Sheriff's Station being slaughtered by Lydia's boyfriend and Stiles Stilinski and werewolves attacking the hospital. I'm talking about my daughter being kidnapped and nearly strangled to death! Tell me, when does it end?!"

"Mom, Stiles and Jackson didn't-" Lydia tries.

"We don't know," Allison says quietly, humbled by the naked terror in Lydia's mother's eyes.

"Well, I do," Lydia's mother spits, glaring furiously at her. "It doesn't, which is why we need to get out of here before she ends up dead too!"

"Oh, no you don't!" Lydia says angrily, shooting to her feet as well and staring down her mother as if she's an angry bull. "I am _not_ leaving Beacon Hills! I told you before and I'll tell you again, I'll go live with Dad or run away before I let you rip me away from here!"

"Why?" Lydia's mother screams, whirling around to look at her with desperate eyes. "What could possibly be so important about this town?!"

"It's not the town!" Lydia screams back and Allison can't help but wince at the high-pitch. "Don't you understand?! I'm not human! I'm a...I'm a banshee and I don't even know what that means! No one can tell me! Even Deaton doesn't know and he's a druid! Peter might have known, but he certainly never told me and he's dead now anyway! The only other banshee I've ever met is in a mental institution because it. Drove. Her. Crazy!"

Lydia pauses and the room is filled with the sound of her deep breaths. Lydia's mother looks completely thrown, her eyes wide, and Allison wonders if they've never screamed at each other like this before. Or maybe Lydia had never told her how she really felt about being a banshee. She'd certainly never told Allison.

Lydia turns her face and glares down at the coffee table for a few seconds, clearly trying to regain her composure before she looks back up her mother, features hardening.

"You will not tear me away from the only support network I have while I figure out exactly what I am," she orders in an even voice, fists shaking briefly at her sides before she stops and relaxes them. "I turn eighteen in less than year. You can give me that."

"Lydia," her mother sobs, the naked emotion on her face making Allison deeply uncomfortable. Her own mother had never looked at her like that. "Lydia, I just want you to be safe."

"It's too late for that," Lydia says, almost cruelly and then turns on her heel. "Allison," she says, giving Allison a firm look. "Let's go."

Allison reluctantly follows her out of the living room and into the foyer, giving Ms. Martin's devastated face one last glance before she rounds the corner. When Lydia closes her front door behind her Allison thinks she can hear her start to cry.

Lydia walks very quickly down the lawn and Allison trails after her worriedly, unable to see the expression on her face.

"Lydia," Allison says when she reaches her car.

"Don't," Lydia says shortly, folding her arms over her chest and glaring down at the passenger seat of Allison's car through the window. "Can you open it?"

Allison unlocks her car dutifully and they both get in, Allison watching Lydia carefully.

"Where do you want to go?" she asks after a minute of Lydia staring blankly ahead of her out of the windshield.

Lydia bursts into tears.

"Oh, Lydia," Allison says, reaching across the car as best she can to comfort her.

Lydia doesn't talk, no matter what Allison tries to get her to open up, just clings to Allison's arms like she did back when Allison first came back to life. Allison strokes Lydia's auburn hair and soothes her as best she can.

"Do you want to sleep at my place tonight?" Allison asks when Lydia's sobs finally subside after a couple minutes.

Lydia nods in her arms and pulls away, leaning against the car door, her head falling against the window. Allison looks at her for a few seconds, but Lydia doesn't say anything, just stares out the window at the setting sun. Allison turns forward and starts her car, her heart heavy and aching with empathy for the familiar situation Lydia has found herself in, but she doesn't know what to say to her to comfort her. Because while their situations might be similar, they're not exactly the same. Lydia's mother is human, is normal, and Allison doesn't exactly have any experience with that. She doesn't know exactly what her parents envisioned for her before they moved to Beacon Hills, and she doesn't want to know. Because she's pretty sure safety was never part of their plans for her.

Allison's made her peace with it, but it doesn't mean she isn't a little jealous of Lydia, even though she knows how inconvenient this all is for her.

**A/N: As is probably patently obvious, everything I know about California state law and U.S. federal law is from Wikipedia. Sorry, I tried. Please review!**


	30. Isaac XIV

**A/N: Warning: this chapter contains disturbing sexual content in the context of a dream.**

* * *

Allison comes over Friday night as usual and Isaac braces himself for Chantille to act awkwardly around her, but he failed to take into account how good of an actress she is. Chantille interacts with Allison exactly the same way she did before and Isaac is so grateful. Latisha on the other hand had seemed very upset that Isaac and Chantille weren't getting along and they'd had to sit down earlier with her to explain that they just got in a little fight and everything was fine now and it wasn't her fault. Isaac feels especially guilty at the distressed look on Latisha's face through it all. What the kid really needed was stability and she wasn't getting it with her foster father and hunters invading their home, and Isaac and Chantille not getting along. Isaac worries about her, that he's not doing a good job of providing a safe environment for her and she's going to end up even more fucked up because he couldn't get his shit together. He doesn't know what else to do, though. He doesn't know anything about being a parent or an older brother and Chantille doesn't seem to have the same worries that he does so he keeps it to himself. Sometimes he wonders if he should be more affectionate, hug her or something, like parents on TV do, but it seems wrong somehow and he doesn't want to scare her. She has Chantille for that anyway.

They end up crammed on the couch after dinner, watching some stupid romantic comedy that one of Chantille's friends from Burger King lent her, but Isaac can't concentrate on paying attention to the storyline because Allison's thigh is pressed up against his, her shoulder against his upper arm, her scent everywhere.

She smells like melon and peaches, probably her shampoo and body wash and Isaac would love to just burrow his nose into her pretty hair and breathe her in. It's sick, like something an animal would do, and Isaac forces himself not to even look at her, hunching a little into himself to keep his arm from brushing hers.

Isaac hates this. He hates feeling like this, hates being like this. He doesn't understand what's wrong with him, why he couldn't crush on someone far off and unattainable instead of close and unattainable. He doesn't want to stop being friends with Allison and he can't avoid Scott forever, yesterday taught him that well enough. There isn't any way of getting rid of Scott. He's like a leech, except the good kind. Isaac doesn't think that even makes sense, but that's how it feels.

He aches with shame. All he can think about is how betrayed Allison would feel if she knew. She thinks they're friends, trusts him, God, she'd even slept in his bed. She doesn't know that he wants things from her that she would not be willing to give.

Some girls, like Chantille, even before she became a whore, know how to channel the interest of boys around her into a weapon to use for their own gain. But Chantille was always smart about it. She knew that like any weapon it could backfire. She never could trust them, would never let herself alone in a room with them, and it would kill Isaac if Allison felt that way about him.

It's horrible, this feeling. He feels like a threat, like the enemy. She's so warm against him, and he _wants_, but it's wrong and he can't. God, he shouldn't even be allowed in the same room as her.

"Are you okay?" Allison asks when he nearly leaps off the couch when the movie is over. "You've been really quiet."

"No, I'm fine," Isaac says, glad to have some distance between them. Behind Allison, Chantille gives him an annoyed look that clearly states _be cool, idiot_.

"You want to go over the Econ chapter again?" Allison asks, getting to her feet as well.

"Sure," Isaac says, and goes out into the hallway to grab his textbook from his backpack.

"Well, I'm gonna call it quits then," he hears Chantille say with a yawn. "C'mon, 'Tisha, wake up, time to go to bed."

Latisha whines in protest, but Chantille cajoles her into getting up and heading for the stairs. When they pass Isaac in the dark hallway she gives Isaac a look that just as clearly states _don't fuck up_.

Isaac feels himself blush and turns away, going back into the living room. Allison is looking at the dent in the wall from when Scott threw the hunter against it.

"Are you ever going to fix that?" she asks, reaching out to touch the cracks in the plaster carefully. "This is from Scott, right?"

"Yeah," Isaac says with a shrug. "I mean, eventually."

He has no idea how to fix such a huge dent, but he has another year to figure it out at any rate.

"I'll drag Scott over to help," Allison says, turning to him. "He's pretty good at fixing things and he broke it in the first place."

"Yeah, after saving my life," Isaac says, not really wanting to talk about Scott with Allison. "I'm not going to ask him to fix it."

"Like you'd have to ask," Allison says with a fond smile. Isaac doesn't know what that means and it disappears before he can decide whether or not to ask her to clarify. "How did yesterday go, by the way. I forgot to ask."

"Fine," Isaac says, sticking his hands in his pockets. He wishes they could just start studying Econ now.

"Fine," Allison repeats, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "That's specific."

Isaac rolls his eyes. "I don't know, Allison. We just ran around like idiots and I tried not to claw Malia's face off."

Allison blinks, looking concerned. "What? Scott said you could mostly control the shift."

"No, she's really just that annoying," Isaac says irritatedly, trying to ignore the glow of warmth at the idea of Scott updating Allison on his progress.

Allison snorts with laughter. "Alright, let's study," she says and they both go into the kitchen to review the last chapter of their Econ book.

Isaac is grateful she doesn't want specifics about Scott. He wouldn't know how to decide what to tell her about yesterday. Surely he couldn't tell her about Scott's gentle encouragement, how he'd explained how focusing on one single objective helped allow them to run faster, punch harder, how he'd beamed brighter than the sun and whooped loudly when Isaac jumped over a ravine over thirty feet wide, a feat he'd only been able to accomplish on the full moon previously, how he glared at Malia when she derided his ability to climb trees with his claws. How Malia offhandedly referred to Scott and his friends as her pack and Isaac thought that he could do that too, if it meant being Scott's.

* * *

Isaac has horrible nightmares that night. He dreams that Scott traps him in the freezer and refuses to let Isaac out until he agrees to kiss him. Terrified, Isaac gives in, but when the freezer door in pulled open and Isaac is freed, Scott isn't there.

Instead Allison stands before him, stark naked, her eyes as cold and dead as they were the night they met. He heart isn't beating, Isaac realizes as she comes closer, and there's dirt and leaves in her hair.

"Shh," she says, reaching out gently to touch Isaac's cheek. "It's going to be okay."

Without warning, Scott grabs him from behind, his claws digging into Isaac's hips. He fucks into him right then and there, while Isaac whimpers and squirms helplessly in his grasp.

"Shh..." Allison says, trailing her cold hands down his bare chest to his cock, and starts to jerk him off.

It should be horrible. It should be a violation, should be painful, like dying. He should feel trapped, caught between them with Scott's fangs in his neck and Allison's cold tits penning him in as she presses up against him to kiss him, her dark eyes keeping him in place just as much as Scott's hands on his hips. But he doesn't feel trapped. It feels good, so good, like he's anchored between them, like they're holding him up.

"Allison," Isaac sobs as pleasure races through his veins. "Scott!"

"Shh," Scott murmurs in his ear, bringing an arm around his chest to hold him tight while he fucks him harder. Isaac can't see, but it doesn't seem to matter; he knows his eyes are alpha red. "It's alright, Isaac, I promise."

Allison wraps a leg around his hip and sinks down on him, bringing her arms around his neck to press his face into her shoulder. Isaac cries out and is lost, helpless and utterly taken, jerking between them as they fuck him without mercy, the thrusts of their hips, Scott's strong hands on his body, Allison's fingers twisting in his hair, every point of contact bringing him closer and closer to-

Isaac gasps awake, his entire body drenched in sweat, floundering in the sheets before he realizes where he is. Terror and painful arousal run through him in equal measure as he tries to center himself. His hands are shaking as he wipes tears from his eyes and winces as the rough cloth of his boxers chafes his erection. He doesn't think he's ever been so turned on in his life and every instinct in him screams to touch himself. But the fear still thrums through his veins, and Isaac scrambles out of bed and rushes out of his room, almost colliding into the wall in the narrow hallway in his haste. He leaps into the shower, turning the water to a punishing cold, barely managing to pull off his t-shirt and boxers before it rains down on him.

Isaac stands in the freezing shower, his arms around himself as he trembles, sealing his mouth shut tight to prevent his teeth from chattering. He hates himself. What the fuck is wrong with him? What is wrong with his brain that it would cause him to dream something as fucked up as that? It wasn't just a wet dream, it was a wet _nightmare_. Isaac has never...he has _never _wanted anyone to fuck him. He might be sort of a faggot now, but he will never, _ever_ want that. And Scott, Scott is so nice. Isaac keeps expecting it to get old, but it never does, as pathetic as that is. Even if he would ever...just grab someone like that, he would never use his teeth or claws on someone during sex. Anyone who'd ever met Scott would know that. And Allison! Why would he dream of her like that? Dead and empty? She'd been terrified and alone when he'd met her like that and Isaac hadn't, even for one second, thought of her in a sexual manner. Why the fuck would he dream about her like that? What is wrong with him? How is he going to look them in the eye tomorrow for their study session?

Eventually his fear and arousal give way to a bone-deep exhaustion and Isaac retreats back to his bed without drying off, curling into a miserable ball under his comforter.

* * *

The next morning Isaac doesn't want to get up, just wants to sleep the entire day away and avoid facing Scott and Allison. The only reason he gets out of bed is because he's only barely passing English and failing Physics, and he desperately needs to do well on those finals.

They're meeting at Scott's house to study, much to Isaac's displeasure, and he tries not to let the panic show on his face when he parks and walks up the lawn to knock on the door. It's only three and a half hours, he tells himself. Three and a half hours until he has to go to work.

"Isaac!" Scott says happily, throwing open the door far too soon for Isaac's comfort. "You made it!"

"Uh, hi," Isaac says, trying not to blush at how obvious it is that Scott is pleased he came.

"Come in," Scott beckons, stepping aside. "We were just finishing Pre-Calc and we're going to start History now."

Isaac walks into the house warily, but as far as he can tell the only people in the house are Scott, Allison, Stiles, Malia, and surprisingly, Lydia. Thankfully neither Scott's mother or father are home. As a general rule, Isaac does not like being in other people's houses. He prefers his own space or public places. Less surprises that way.

He has a little more time to look at the house as he follows Scott to the living room. It's pretty big but cluttered, a couple dust bunnies in the corner. He supposes it makes sense, Scott's mom being a single mother and a nurse. Though they must pay nurses a lot more in Beacon Hills to be able to afford this house.

Stiles is on the far side of the living room couch playing some computer game on his laptop while Malia uses his left hand as a bookmark for her Algebra book. Isaac still has no clue if they're fucking or not, just that Stiles is basically Malia's bitch. Lydia is sitting in the armchair and Allison is leaning over to look at her notebook from her spot next to Malia on the couch.

"Hey, Isaac," Allison says, looking up when he comes in.

Isaac just nods at her, unsure how to respond.

"You can sit here," Scott says, grabbing his backpack off the chair on the other side of the empty space in the middle where the coffee table used to be.

"Thanks," Isaac mutters, ducking his head down so Scott can't see his expression.

He sits down and takes out his History book. He's never studied with anyone but Allison, and he's not sure exactly what the protocol is for study groups.

"Ugh, can we take a break?" Malia groans, flopping back against the back of the couch and staring at the ceiling.

"You literally just got here," Stiles says, not tearing away his eyes from his laptop screen.

"Malia, you're going to fail pretty much every single one of your classes except for Gym if you don't ace your finals," Lydia says reprovingly.

"Please, like that'll help," Malia says with an eye roll, shifting forward suddenly to lean forward over her legs. "I'm already doomed to summer school. Can we just go outside for a bit?"

"Wow, and I thought I was the one with ADHD," Stiles says, looking down at her judgmentally.

ADHD. Well, that explains a lot about Stiles, Isaac thinks nastily.

"You try living in the woods for eight years and then have everyone try and keep you inside for hours on end."

"What?" Isaac says before he can stop himself.

Malia yawns. "I was a coyote for eight years," she explains, looking bored. "And before that I accidentally killed my mother and little sister during the full moon."

There is an appalled silence while Isaac tries to figure out if she's joking or not.

"Shit," he says, when he realizes she's not. He guesses that explains the blue eyes. "And I thought my childhood was fucked up. I bet you win the worst childhood contest every time."

"I do," Malia says, with a nasty grin, baring her teeth at him, and wow, this also explains why she's doing even worse in school than Isaac is and eats like a wild animal. "What you got?"

Isaac snorts. "The oldest one in the book. Dad liked to beat the shit out of me for kicks. He got arrested, I got put in the system for five years, then he bit it inside and I got the house."

He doesn't really know why he's telling her this. He doesn't usually talk about his dad with anyone, though plenty of people have guessed why he was in the system. He supposes he feels some weird kinship with her. No wonder she's such a bitch all the time.

"Hmm," Malia says, eyeing him with interest. "My dad tried to shoot me once, but that was because I broke into the house while I was a coyote and stole my sister's doll."

Isaac opens his mouth to ask how the fuck she turned into a coyote, but Stiles cuts him off.

"Are you two seriously doing this right now?" he asks, voice a higher octave than usual, looking extremely disturbed.

"We wouldn't be if I could go outside," Malia says, giving the windows behind Isaac a longing look.

"We'll take a break later," Scott says quickly. "C'mon, Malia, you have to study."

"Fine," Malia sighs and slouches back against the couch, apparently not noticing or not caring that the entire room is staring at her.

Isaac just leans back into the chair and buries his nose in his History book.

Two hours later, he doesn't know how, Isaac ends up on the couch sandwiched in-between Allison and Scott. He has to hold himself very stiff to prevent any of his limbs touching theirs, his eyes glued to his Physics notes. He doesn't dare look at either of them and tries not to lose himself in the smell of Scott's aftershave and Allison's shampoo.

"So basically, all you have to do is memorize the equation and then know when to apply it," Scott explains, pointing at a page from his own notes, which are much more comprehensive and better written than Isaac's.

"Okay," Isaac says, without any understanding of what Scott is talking about

Don't look at him, he keeps telling himself. Just don't look at him.

"Scott, do you mind if I grab a drink?" Allison says fanning herself and Isaac realizes that Scott isn't running air conditioning either. Her bra strap falls onto her shoulder, and as she reaches down to adjust it, her fingers graze his bicep.

"I'll get it!" Scott says, getting up, and Isaac flinches when his shoe knocks against his on accident.

Idiot, he thinks scornfully. What did you think he was trying to do? Kick you?

"What do you want?"

"Just water," Allison says, and Isaac tries not to stare at Scott's ass as he walks away into the kitchen.

I'm in hell, Isaac thinks miserably and ducks his head further down to hide his face.

They move on to English and Econ before Isaac finally bails, barely able to look at Scott or Allison as he leaves for fear of giving himself away. All the way to the gas station he feels the phantom touch of their bodies against his and has to slap himself in the face a few times to get a hold of himself.

The next week is hell for a different reason, though the silver lining is definitely that he has less time to embarrass himself in front of Scott or Allison. And then the last day of school comes and he's free until next year, his final year of high school.

At least until he finds out his final grades. Isaac did well, but not well enough. He failed Physics. And in a school district which regards social promotion as the ultimate evil (or at least that was the impression Isaac got from the school administrators he met with) that means summer school.

"Shit," Chantille says, when he tells her, sitting across the kitchen table from him after he gets back from work. "And they making you retake it?"

"Yeah," Isaac says miserably, angry and humiliated at his failure. "Four hours a day for six weeks."

He won't be able to get a summer job, that's the worst part. Isaac's no stranger to failing classes, after all. He'd just never gotten held back for it before. There's a summer day-camp through the park district that all of Latisha's friends were going to and she'd had her heart set on it. Now they wouldn't be able to afford it. Hopefully they'd be able to get the registration fee back.

"You could drop out," Chantille offers. "Get your GED. You don't even like school."

"I only have one year left," Isaac grouses, burying his head in his arms on the kitchen table. "I might as well just finish."

"Okay," Chantille says simply, and Isaac jerks his head up, flushing with anger.

"Okay?" he says, burning with shame. "That's all you have to say? Aren't you mad?"

Chantille gives him a very strange look. "Why would I be mad?"

Because I fucked up, Isaac thinks miserably. Because I failed and now what is Latisha going to do this summer? Sit in the house alone?

He doesn't say any of this, but Chantille seems to understand, getting an irritated look on her face. "Isaac, Latisha will be fine. Bored out of her mind, sure, but she'll pull through. We never went to summer camp."

Yeah, Isaac had spent his summers in Beacon Hills working for his father in the graveyard, trying not to get hit. In LA he'd roamed around town aimlessly to avoid spending time at the group home. One of those nights he'd wandered into Chinatown and got bitten by a werewolf.

"Isaac," Chantille says with a raised eyebrow. "You know you don't got to take care of us. You realize I make more money than you."

"You're fifteen," Isaac says lowly, trying not to grit his teeth. "You shouldn't have t-"

"Sixteen in two weeks," Chantille says, rolling her doe eyes expressively, and shit, that's right, he has to remember to get her a present. "And that's sooo different than seventeen, ain't it? We'll be fine. If you so worried about money, why aren't you on welfare, anyway?"

"I have a job," Isaac grouses.

Chantille rolls her eyes. "You work less than thirty hours a week _and _you in school. Isn't that what they want? C'mon, pretty white boy like you, you think they be dying to help you out."

That wasn't Isaac's experience with the system, though that was more to do with the fact that he was an abused child than race. Nobody wants used goods.

"I'm not eighteen yet."

"Emancipated's the same."

"Yeah, well part of it is proving you're not going to end up taking a check like everyone else."

Chantille gives him a dubious look. "So? They not going to un-emancipate you. I guarantee they don't give a fuck, they just so glad you one less problem to deal with. Hey, don't look like that," she says when he glares. "I'm not saying this for me, I'm doing fine. But if you worried about money, you may as well take it where you can get it."

"I'll think about it," Isaac says. He's not sure why he's against going on welfare, to be honest. It's not a stupid pride thing. Maybe he feels bad about letting down his social worker. He's not sure why, she was nice and helped him out, but he knows she didn't really care about him. He doesn't blame her. With her job, caring was out of the question if she wanted to last long. Maybe when he turned eighteen in the beginning of October he'd see where he was financially and apply, though he's pretty sure owning this house disqualifies him. Maybe he could get on food stamps.

Isaac doesn't stop feeling guilty, but it helps that Chantille isn't angry at him for fucking up Latisha's summer. He has a week before summer school starts and he tries to spend most of it entertaining Latisha, to preemptively apologize for leaving her alone for four hours a day for the next month and a half.

They're in the backyard one afternoon, Latisha sitting on the cracked concrete patio with a coloring book, while Isaac mows the lawn with his father's old lawn mower and hopes, as he does every time, that it won't break down. He does the backyard and is just about to do the front (the neighbors in this fucking neighborhood are such assholes and actually _complain _that his lawn looks terrible if he doesn't cut it enough) when he hears someone walking around the house. Isaac quickly turns the lawnmower off and turns around to come face to face with Allison and Scott.

"Hey," Allison says with a smile and Isaac tries not to show how freaked out he is. He's not used to people being able to sneak up on him. "Sorry, we called, but you didn't pick up."

"Oh," Isaac says, padding his pockets. "Yeah, my phone's inside."

"Hey, Latisha," Allison says, waving at her and Isaac tries not to shrink into himself, suddenly aware that his new green t-shirt is soaked with sweat and he probably looks disgusting.

Latisha does not reply, just looks at Scott warily. Isaac supposes he should probably tell her she doesn't have to be afraid of him anymore.

"I didn't know you had a pool," Scott says, looking at the blue tarp covering behind Isaac and Isaac knows what he means. This house didn't look nice enough to have a pool.

"Yeah, my dad was into swimming," Isaac says with a casual shrug, wondering why they're here. "Did something happen?"

"Hmm?" Scott says, looking from the pool back to him, confused. "Oh, no, we just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out."

Oh. Isaac has no idea what to say to that.

"Well, I'm..." Isaac says lamely, looking over at Latisha. He's not going to leave her here to hang out with two people who he really should be trying to stay away from.

"That's cool," Scott says, not looking bothered and Isaac doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed at that. "Are you going to fill it up for the summer?"

"Probably not, it's pretty gross," Isaac says, wiping sweat off his brow. He's pretty sure Chantille and Latisha don't know how to swim, and he's always hated swimming anyway. It doesn't exactly bring back any good memories. Camden had once dunked him underwater for so long that he almost drowned and laughed when he finally let Isaac up, spitting up water and gasping for air. He's pretty sure they did the same thing to Matt Daehler, who hadn't known to avoid Camden and his friends when they were drinking.

Oh, God, what if Scott wanted to come over and use the pool? Suddenly, Isaac is besieged by images of Scott wet and shirtless and Allison in a bikini. The images are ruined slightly by the realization that Stiles, Lydia, and Malia would probably come over too, and then he remembers that Lydia has a lot nicer pool in her fucking mansion and is incredibly relieved.

"It looks like it's going to be all three of us in summer school, by the way," Allison says, looking as gorgeous as usual in her charcoal gray dress with faint patterns of blue flowers on it and bright red lipstick and nail polish. "They're making me retake two classes, too."

All three of them? Isaac thinks, looking at Scott, and then realizes that she's talking about Malia.

"What's Latisha doing for the summer?" Allison asks, looking across the yard at her. "Still thinking about that day camp?"

"Uh, no, it's too expensive," Isaac says awkwardly. "She just going to be hanging out here."

Scott frowns. "That sucks," he says, looking over at Latisha as well, who is watching them all out of the corner of her eye, because shit, Isaac did tell her Scott was in a gang one time.

Isaac doesn't end up finishing mowing the lawn today and instead sits out in the sun with Allison and Scott for a couple hours before he has to go to work.

It's nice, spending time with them, if a little nerve-wracking, especially when Scott invites him on a trip they were planning to San Francisco in a couple weeks. Isaac doubts he can go, but he appreciates the invitation all the same. Latisha disappears inside to watch TV and Isaac reminds himself to tell her that Scott's cool.

Overall, he thinks he's getting a hang of being friends with them, even though he has to remind himself not to look at either of them too long.

When he comes home from work on Saturday night, Chantille is waiting for him with an annoyed look on her face and Isaac wonders if Latisha told her that Scott came over.

"I got a really weird phone call today," she says, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him suspiciously. "It was some lady from the park district confirming that Latisha was registered for that day camp."

"What?" Isaac says, frowning. "But I canceled it. We got our registration fee back and everything."

"Well, someone else registered for us," Chantille says angrily, her eyes narrowing at him."It's all been paid for. The entire three months!"

"Don't look at me, I didn't do..." Isaac says, confused why she's angry at _him_ and then stops, considering. "I...told Scott and Allison we couldn't afford it, but they couldn't have...Shit," he says in realization. "The Sheriff."

"Isaac, that's almost two thousand dollars," Chantille hisses. "And I thought you were staying away from him. What does he want? You know that shit can't come free."

"Scott doesn't want anything," Isaac says quickly, still trying to work out if he's touched or humiliated by Scott's intervention, because it had to be Scott who told the Sheriff. "Or you mean the Sheriff? I doubt either of them paid for it themselves. He probably just talked to someone and got her on the list."

"That doesn't matter," Chantille says, looking worried. "We already owe him and now this?"

"I don't think they want anything from us," Isaac says dubiously, but he knows Chantille's right. Nothing ever comes for free, even if he can't think of what anyone would want from them in return.

But if it could, something in the back of his mind whispers, it would definitely come from Scott.

**A/N: I was trying to get across Isaac's screwed up view of sexuality in this chapter, but I'm not sure how good of a job I did. Basically, Isaac views sexuality, particularly male sexuality, as inherently dangerous. He doesn't consider himself exempt from this, which is why he is reticent to be affectionate with Latisha, a victim of sexual abuse, and why he feels so guilty about his attraction to Allison. Even though he has no plans to ever make a move on her, he feels that because he is sexually attracted to her he is a threat to her. The fact that (he thinks) she doesn't know makes him feel worse because she is unable to take what he would consider necessary precautions around him, instead of being completely comfortable sleeping in the same bed as him (though, to be fair, there is no way Allison would have done that had she not been dealing with the aftermath of her resurrection.) Chantille has similar views, which besides homophobia, was one of the reasons she reacted so badly to Isaac's crush on Scott. If Scott had returned Isaac's feelings, Chantille would have been worried that Isaac would be taken advantage of (because Scott is stronger than him. She would have felt the same way if Isaac was a girl.) As it is, she's just worried that Scott is going to find out and beat the shit out of Isaac, because Isaac has told her absolutely nothing about Scott and the only two times she's even been around Scott was when he helped the Sheriff arrest Isaac and took down the hunters that broke into their house. This will obviously be explored more in later chapters, but I just wanted to clear up any confusion. Please review!**


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